First Day of School Reflections

From left to right: MacKenzy is wearing all pink. Erik is wearing a dark gray shirt with black shorts, black socks, and red shoes. Zakary is wearing a red shirt and blue shorts.

The silence in the house is deep except for the electrical hum of the mini fridge at the top of the stairs. I’m sitting on my couch – the one I just moved in my attempt to arrange my office in a manner that suited me. I’ve activated the recliner so my feet are up. As I write this, I wonder what MacK is doing. It’s her first day of kindergarten and she’s our last one.

i imagine that she is smiling – as she always is (except when she isn’t). I imagine her sitting prim and proper with her hands folded happily paying attention so someone can tell her she’s being a good girl.

We managed to get her hair combed today. Thank goodness Denise cut it shorter. Somehow, keeping it short keeps it less tangled and MacK is more likely to run a brush through her mop of curls. She’s very much like her Titi when it comes to combing her hair. … Or not combing it.

It’s warm in the house – down right stuffy really, and I feel a bit emotional. My mama heart yearns for the newborn days–the days where I could imagine all the things they would be. What am I saying? I think I’m being what some may call dramatic. I still imagine all types of things for my kids. I imagine what my children will do when they get older. I imagine the adults they will become, the parents they will be, and I hope that their lives will be influenced by me … their mom. The person who pours so much love, energy, and dreams into their psyche.

My sixth grader willingly gave me a hug this morning before running off to be with his friends. Will this be the last time he does this on the first day of school? Will he be too cool next year to give his mother a hug? I’ve schooled him in the ways of mamas and their children. I remember telling him as a toddler that he must always hug his mother because we’re Puerto rican and that’s what we do.

I could be better at always hugging my mother.

I love my mom. I wish I could hug her now and share stories about my first day of school. She’s a great mom. I’m a great mom because of her.

“No, no, no.” Zak wouldn’t stand in front of the paw print to take a picture.

I think he tried to be cool today. He may have been a little nervous but didn’t want anyone to know. He was too cool for photos – at least the ones at school. He did allow me to take photos in the house.

I worry about him. I worry he won’t have access to the things that will make him successful. I worry that he isn’t a fluent reader in English or Spanish. I worry … and then I console myself by reminding myself he’s Zak. This kid is brilliant in ways we as a society don’t celebrate. I don’t need to worry, but I do anyways … He’s my Monkey Face.

If I could physically shed tears, I’d be crying now. I’m a mom and moms cry during first days of school and especially on the last first day of kindergarten.

It’s truly unfair that I have been robbed ot the healing powers of tears. I imagine there is something bitter sweet about tears sliding down the cheek and dripping off the chin. I imagine what it would feel like to have warm salty tears soothing my mama heart and making the last first day of kinder just a little easier for me to survive.

Sitting on the couch, the aC finally kicked in, I am sharply aware that I cannot cry … so i think of my daughter’s little hand sliding into mine – her small hand, soft and slightly plump with lingering baby fat. I think of her hug and her curly hair falling across her face. I think of my sixth grader giving me a hug despite the fact that his friends were near. and i think of my Monkey Face, looking down at the ground but leaning in so I can hug him. I’m truly a lucky mom and my kids are truly beautiful Beings that have made my life unbelievably blessed.

Signing off for now,

Bay Area Blind Mom

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