mothers and sons, it's not an easy thing

We met with the big five year old's kindergarten teacher this week for our first parent teacher conference. We dropped the tiny toddler off at day care so we would have as few distractions as possible. We loaded the big five year old up with healthy on the go breakfast choices since we had to leave the house an hour earlier than we usually do. We tried every door to the school before we found one that was unlocked at the horribly early hour of 7am. After finally finding an open door, on the other side of the school, we made a mad dash through dark hallways and a empty gymnasium only to arrive at the conference 3 minutes late. (score!) His teacher showed up 5 minutes later...

We sat on tiny blue chairs with our knees tucked up to our chins. Out of the corner of my eye I could see my big five year old wandering around his classroom, trying on a hat, touching a book, looking out the window. While we talked to his teacher he found a seat and ate his breakfast before hopping back up and joining us at the "adult" table.

We learned that our big five year is very smart. We learned that his reading and comprehension are high for a child his age. We saw school work that was A+ quality and some that was definitely a fail. We nodded our heads and agreed that he was a smart kid who needed to work on his behavior and impulse control. His teacher called him a "blessing" and said that he "marches to his own drummer".

I walked out of the large, colorful classroom proud. We have things to celebrate and things to work on. We were not surprised by what we heard.

What has surprised me these first 6 weeks of school has been my emotions.  Our days are ruled by the color my big five year old achieves on his daily behavior chart, yes. If he brings home a yellow, orange, or, (gasp!) red day our evenings are filled with reminders, (which sometimes turn into lectures), no TV or screen time, and early bed times. It is not easy on anyone. How one small child can bring home news that can totally change the family dynamics, every single day, was a surprise to me.

The daily school bus ride from school to his after school program has also been a landmine my big five year old has had to navigate, alone. So far he has had nose bleeds and lost his thermos. He had an assigned seat for a while, most likely brought on by his desire to sit with the other kids and his indecision of where to sit when they say "no". And it breaks my heart. Who are these kids to say "no" to my sweet little boy? Why won't they let him sit with them on the bus?

I tell him that they need to get to know him. That the older kids have friends already from last year. That he needs to let the other little boy from his class, who also rides the bus, pick the seat. That he needs to relax and let it happen. That making friends is not easy and takes time. I tell him all of this with a smile. But inside I am seething at these children who won't let my boy share their seat. I hold back tears and want to fold him into my arms and never let him go.

Some days my big five year old comes home full of smiles and stories about his day. Some times he comes home full of sadness because "no one wants to play with" him. Now my boy is smart and outgoing and energetic and I suspect that he might be a tad too controlling when his friends don't want to play with him. He is imaginative and likes to create elaborate stories as he plays. I tell him to ask his friends what they would like to play, to join in with them. He tells me that his friends make his "eyes water", which is what he says when he feels as though he is going to cry. And I smile and offer encouraging words. Again, I want to take these children by the hand and force them to play with my sweet boy. I want to be there, with him. I want to remind him to sit in his seat and pay attention to his teacher. I want to sit with him on the bus. I want to play pirates with him at recess. I want to stop him from working so hard to please his friends. I want him to relax and let it happen. I want to stop my heart from breaking and his eyes from watering.

This is kindergarten. There will be many successes and challenges along my son's journey. Sometimes I will be there to pick him up. Sometimes he will have to figure it out on his own. Sometimes we will cry together at the unfairness that is life. Sometimes we will celebrate together the amazing things happening in his life. I won't always have the right answers, and sometimes I might not have any answers at all. What I do know is this; it is easier and harder every day. Sure, he no longer requires diapers and total supervision. I can turn my back on him in the bath tub and let him play downstairs while I put his little brother to bed upstairs. I can let go of his hand in a parking lot and he can buckle himself into the car. He can help me make dinner and get his own snacks. But his days are no longer filled with naps and play time. And with age comes concern. Ever since his stint at Safety Town this past summer my big five year old has been more aware of the dangers this world holds. The smoke alarm going off in our home can now send him into a panic, now that he more fully understands it's implications. The TV news is unsettling to him now that he knows a little more about what's out there. The more we teach our children the more innocence slips away.

This is life. It breaks my heart to see my big five year old struggling. Letting go, letting him find his own path may just be hardest thing I have ever done. And to think that in a few years I get to send another little one out into the world, without me. I want to keep them close, protected from the things that make our eyes water. Mothers and sons. It's not any easy thing.

Dear World,

Today I watched my baby boy walk out of my arms and into yours.  I thought I was ready, but it was harder to watch him walk away than I thought it was going to be.  He was super excited to be allowed, for the first time ever, to get out of the car all by himself – he had no idea the backseat doors even opened from the inside.  He skipped up the sidewalk and into his new school, his dinosaur backpack heavy on his back. He emptied his pockets as we waited in the drop off line, car after car of moms and dads wearing pajamas, business suits, workout clothes. He handed over his Angry Birds slap bracelet, a small stuffed yellow Angry Bird, a piece of wrapped candy, two rocks, and a tiny plastic spinning top. And then he hopped out, yelled, “I love you Mommy!” over his shoulder, slammed the door, and skipped into his new school.

He is yours now, World. Please take care of him. Please be gentle with him. Please don’t show him your harsh reality just yet. I have spent the past four years keeping him close, while trying to teach him everything he needed to know to be ready for this day. I have spent years holding his hand as I walked him into daycare and preschool. He has been surrounded by other well protected children; at daycare, at China school, at family gatherings. I have controlled his TV viewing and monitored his intake of world events. Remember, World, this is the boy who spent months talking about how bad he felt for the “Americans who had people hurt in 9-11”, after overhearing his teachers talk on the anniversary of this horrible day. And he didn’t even know the whole story.  He is sad when his friends are too preoccupied with whatever they are doing to include him in their play. This boy, he feels things very deeply, World, please remember that.

They say that internationally adopted children are often very fierce and independent, as though a fire burns within them. Not my little man. No, World, he is not independent. Oh, he can get his own snacks and he can use the men’s room out in public all by himself, sure. But I make sure the snacks are the ones I want him to eat, and the men’s room is in a safe environment.  He is mine, World, and he has been from the first moment I held him. He didn’t cry when the nanny handed him to me. He held on, and he hasn’t let go of me yet. He still needs me, World. Don’t push your negative views, your bad attitudes, your violence and your anger onto my little boy. Share all you have to offer, World, your good and your bad, with him slowly. Show him your compassion as he makes new friends. Show him your friendly competition as he discovers skills he is great, and not so great, at. Show him your love as he gets a hug from his new principal, something they are still allowed to do in his private Christian school. Show him your amazing abilities as he learns about science. Show him your diversity, World, as he continues to learn where he fits in as an American born in China. Show him your patience and tolerance.

 

 

Keep him safe, World, as he rides one of your big yellow school buses to his after school program this afternoon.  He has never been away from me for so long, or with so many new changes all at once. Before, when he left me, I walked him to his classroom and picked him up. Now he is walking in alone and riding a bus. He is going to have such a great time with you, World. This boy, he is going places. He is smart and funny and compassionate. He is still fragile, though, World, so please, handle my baby boy with care.

 from this 15 month sweetie.... to this big 5 year old in the blink of an eye...