Days after graduating from high school (okay, maybe I didn't wait that long) I left home to work at Ruttger's for the summer.  I was gone all summer, coming home pretty frequently but usually just for the day.  I felt independent, like I had already taken that first step in moving away from home.  When it was time for me to start at the University, my family helped move my things into the dorm.  Once all my stuff was unloaded (and really it didn't take long considering the room was probably 12" x 12" and housed two people), it was time for my parents to go.  My mom started crying.  I didn't get it, I mean I'd been gone for three months already, how could she cry then?

>>Fast forward fifteen years>>

Martin started pre-school this week through an ECFE (Early Childhood Family Education) program offered through our school district.  It's a great program where he goes to school two days a week for an hour-and-a-half each time.  On Mondays, we go together.  We play together, do some group activities, then the parents and children separate so the parents can talk while the kids play.  On Wednesdays, Martin attends pre-school by himself.  I thought this would be a great program to get him started and ready for school.  It's been over a year since he attended day care, and I'm afraid that in that time he's gotten pretty used to being the leader.  I wanted him to be able to socialize with other kids, learn to follow directions, be a good listener, have to share, sometimes be a follower instead of the full-time leader he is at our house.



Monday was great.  He explored the new classroom, didn't seem too shy, listened to the teacher and didn't show any anxiety when I told him that I would be going into the parent room.  I saw him playing with other kids, watched him try out some new things, observed him imitating the actions of his new classmates.

I was nervous about Wednesday.  Would he feel okay when I dropped him off?  Would he remember to go to the bathroom?  Would he share without me there to suggest it?  We walked into the building, took off his boots and jacket and signed him in.  He marched off and started playing with some dolls and a dollhouse.  I heard him telling all of the "people" in the house that it was time to go to work and that they better get their bags and go to the car.  I waved goodbye and he said "see you later, momma", barely looking up from his "people". 

An hour and a half later, I went back into the building to get him.  He was patiently waiting in line behind a few other kids.  Each child was greeted by his or her parent, Martin making his way to the front.  "Hi momma.  Let's go," he said with a wide smile on his face.  Martin's teacher grabbed my arm, "He was just a pleasure to have in class today," she said.

My boy.  A pleasure.  I could feel the tears come to my eyes and for a moment a brief understanding of my mom's fifteen years ago.  It's seeing your child at a crossroads that brings tears like a flash.  It's knowing that they've grown and are at a new place, ready for more growth this time without you.  In the instant that I had all of these thoughts, I had the realization that this is just the beginning.  Starting pre-school, having someone tell you that your child is a pleasure to be around, those are just two small milestones on the very early end of the timeline.  I better start preparing myself now for that day when we drop him off at the dorm.  Based on my reaction this week, I'm going to be in such trouble when we get to bigger milestones down the road.