It’s back-to-school season, and this column is for the moms, especially those sending off their children to kindergarten. You’ve done your searches, weighed countless variables, short term and long term, because you’re finally in for the long haul, usually six years — K-5 — for the majority of elementary schools. God willing, your child will be happy and for the first time in years you can relax.
A little background: When you’re pregnant, unsolicited advice and predictions abound, many of which are often proven false. The prescient buttinskies inform you that after the baby is born your body will be weird, your hormones will be a study in Brownian motion, your marriage dynamic will change, your social life will take a hit, your once regular and restorative sleep cycle will be obliterated. And if you choose to return to work, you’ll freak out dropping off your darling at day care; meanwhile, those who choose to stay home become unglued wondering about going back to work one day — either way, if your career doesn’t take a tumble, it’ll definitely take a jumble.
I chose to stay at home which wasn’t a terrible stretch, as for years I’d worked at home writing Spanish textbooks. Still, I gave up teaching at the University of St. Thomas and working with private students at home, both of which I loved. My husband was an Emergency Room physician whose work schedule was another study in Brownian motion. My staying home was the right choice for all of us and I have no regrets.
But there’s one aspect nobody talked about, and that is the nomadic existence I’d have for six years. Nomad is defined variously as an itinerant, a wanderer who moves around, usually seasonally, an unsettled person.
Though I didn’t know it, eight weeks after Daisy, my first, was born I entered the world of the nomad. It began with ECFE (Early Childhood Family Education), and it didn’t take long to realize that the classes were by proxy only for the babies, who usually were sleeping or nursing. No, these classes were for the new moms, each happy to get out of the house yet totally losing it in a stream of insecurities, fears, worries. I certainly felt lost in that new world and believed that I was the only one feeling unmoored. The class discussions revealed that we were all in the same boat, and ECFE was our life raft with its happy mom = happy baby mantra.
After a string of ECFE classes came a flurry of McPhail’s music classes, Foss Swim School, endless field trips to the zoo, the Children’s Museum, countless parks (all valuable) and walks with newfound, alas, for the most part temporary, circumstantial friends. It was all lovely, but fleeting. Then came pre-school, a bit more stable, but still transient.
Kindergarten finally changed all that.
My daughters attended Kenwood Elementary. It was glorious — a terrific neighborhood school filled with children who lived nearby. Playdates are a constant at that age and no matter how lovely you may find certain suburbs I don’t know anyone who wants to drive 10 miles (or more!) to and fro for a couple hours of playtime, especially when one’s backyard is rife with diamonds. But, wait — there’s more! I dropped off Daisy each morning as did many other moms, and as the kids settled in, I would survey the adult crowd: she looks interesting; she looks smart; she looks fun; the jury’s out on her, and so on. It was like back in the day going to parties and bars and checking out guys. It turns out the other moms were doing the same thing. After years of ephemeral and nomadic friendships we were ready for the real thing. I call it “mom dating.”
As the students made their friends, I made mine. Several of my deepest friendships today took root in Daisy’s, then Lily’s, (now both college graduates) kindergarten classrooms. Friendships are born of time and repetition and, of course, commonalities. Elementary school classrooms, which by and large welcome parents’ involvement, are the perfect hub for developing bonhomie. (Spoiler alert: when your child hits middle school, you don’t go to school any longer and neither do the other moms. Teachers don’t want you around and there’s a good chance your child will act like he or she doesn’t know you. The glorious period of mom dating comes to a screeching halt.)
So, moms, welcome to kindergarten, a true garden of delights. May you and your darling children bloom and flourish.
— Dorothy
