You could saw out my heart with a meat cleaver...or just show me his writing journal

More than half-way through the school year and I was feeling comfortable that my little kindergartner had adjusted pretty darn well. You see, I tend to have those children that, if given the choice, they'd rather stay at home with me. I truly don't know what the attraction is, other than our genetic link, because I'm not really THAT exciting.

All of my children have been criers, which I will admit they come by honestly. I'm the mom at the bus stop tearing up as they board the bus on the first day...and the tenth day. And it's not so much that they are leaving me that tugs at the heartstrings, I think it's the bigger picture of how fast time flies and how days turn into years in what seems to be the blink of an eye. What can I say, I's likes my babies close.

Having an 18-year-old and a 14-year-old means I should be an old pro at this. But every year, I still have the teacher telling me that they are fine when they get to school and that they forget all about me and immediately jump right into their day, happy and curious. I really want to believe them.

By Christmas of this year, despite Rowan still asking me every single morning if he could PLEEEEEASE stay home, I was believing his teacher's reports that he was a well-adjusted little learner. On my volunteer days in the classroom, he certainly looked to be comfortable on his blue square on the carpet. And I'll admit I watched with amazement as he folded his towel and properly put it into his cubby. Those feats of organization NEVER happen at home. It was almost magical.

Last month, his teacher sent home their first writing journal for us to enjoy. I loved seeing the pictures he drew and accompanying sentences. It reinforced to me everything his teacher was saying. He WAS doing well! He WASN'T missing me and feeling heartbroken all day long! I was convinced....that is, until I saw this:



OH. MY. GOD. The poor child is so devastated that he couldn't even muster the strength to pick up a crayon and draw a picture to illustrate his anguish! I bet he barely eeked out the words to his plea! I can't even bear to think about it.

I don't remember his mood when he returned home on January 12th, but I sure hope it was one of those days that he was greeted with a pan of warm brownies and a hug and not me waiting at the bus stop in the van, shoving him into his car seat, and yelling that we've got to hurry because Olivia needs to be picked up at the library, we're out of shampoo, and the library books are three days late.

Thank goodness the teacher didn't send this home until later in the school year...I may have had to resort to homeschooling just to ease the guilt. And trust me, I am smart enough to know that I am SO not qualified for that gig.