To Everything, Turn, Turn, Turn

First day of Kindergarten. We've been eagerly anticipating this day for months now, but the reality of it has been somewhat lost in the shuffle of paperwork, the uncertainty of knowing which school Eleanor would attend, and the weary pace of our packed summer calendar.

It means a lot, this day. For where there was once a chubby-faced, sparkley-eyed baby, who was surely too small to entrust to the care of a daycare provider; there was then a small, rosy-cheeked, finger-sucking child, who was surely too young to go to preschool and make new friends so quickly; now there is a slender-bodied, bandy-legged, toothy-grinned young girl, who is surely too inexperienced to face the world of Kindergarten with such foolhearted bravery.

But she did.

She dressed in full Kindergarten splendor: a comfortable cotton dress (not a new one, but one of her favorites), with a long-sleeved shirt underneath, set off by her shiny new school shoes. She heaved her backpack on, and carried her lunchbox herself.

I hugged her to me, inhaling the sweet-salty smell of her hair. I whispered a prayer into her ear, hoping it would find its way into her heart, and then weave like insense up to the heart of God.

Dear God, thank you for Eleanor. Thank you for this, her first day of Kindergarten. Please be with her today. Keep her safe. Help her to make new friends, to obey the rules, and to have fun. Amen.

Despite the off-the-cuff comment of one of Eleanor's teachers at open house last week, that "you'd be crazy to put your kid on the school bus during the first two weeks of school" because the buses are so notoriously late, we loaded our first-born onto a freshly cleaned yellow bus this morning, knowing that our Creature of Routine would only be bothered by a we'll-drive-you-the-first-week-and-after-that-you'll-ride-the-bus plan. Better to bite the bullet, right from the get-go.

We talked a lot about riding the school bus. Each kid is responsible for his or her own behavior, because there are no grown-ups to monitor it. Seats are for sitting only, never for feet or for standing. If there's an emergency, listen for the driver's instruction and quickly do exactly as you're told. Sit where you see an open seat, and stay in your seat until you arrive at school. And don't worry, because the bus only goes to one place, which is your school.

Except that when we arrived at the bus stop, we met a 2nd-grader and 4th-grader, headed to a different school, who informed us that the bus first stops at their school, and then goes to Eleanor's. We relayed this new information to Eleanor, who listened, unfazed by this wrench in the Grand Bus-Riding Plan.

I thought about the "Tell Us About Your Child" form Eleanor's teacher asked us to fill out. What are your child's strengths, the form asked. Last night, I sat down and wrote:

Eleanor likes to make plans and collaborate with others to execute the plan. She is artistic and creative. She is a good problem-solver. She understands most things after receiving an explanation.

I paused and recalled an observation that Eleanor made while devouring airplane snacks on the way back from Colorado yesterday, her face scrunched up with seriousness as she peered into the miniature snack bag: "Mama, have you ever noticed that, with snack-mix and legos, the little pieces fall to the bottom and the big ones stay at the top?"

She's good at looking for the big picture; at connecting the dots, I continued. She has a great sense of humor.

I forgot to write: She is very brave.

But she is, nonetheless. Her eyes sparkled with anticipation and she smiled ear-to-ear as the school bus approached. "Goodbye, Mama! Goodbye Papa!," she yelled, as she traversed the formidable steps onto the bus. We saw her take a seat by another child, a stranger then, but no doubt a friend by the end of the ride.

With my hand, I waved goodbye, and kept waving until the bus was out of sight. With my mouth, I yelled goodbye to Eleanor, my big, brave girl. But with my heart, I quietly whispered goodbye to much, much more.