Sympathetic Pain

Disclaimer: This is a vent.

There's really only one way to say it: Abby's having a rough adjustment to kindergarten.

It's not that she's overwhelmed by the materials they're learning (if anything, I think she's a little puzzled about why people keep asking her to trace and copy N's and 4's and asking what sound the letter E makes, when she's known all that for at least a year) but she's just not down with the program. The days are too long. The slides are too big. There's not time for naps. She misses mommy (and, I suspect, the cousins and friends that have been a big part of her life up til now).

I know, I know. Apparently, these are pretty normal complaints from the kindergarten-going crowd, and it could be worse. But it still feels wrong. I was all prepared to soldier through my sad feelings when I was sure she was gonna love school and I was the one who dreaded dropping her off each morning. I was unprepared for what it would feel like if we both sat in the parking lot each morning, both wishing we could say, "Forget this - let's go on a Starbucks date together, then see what the cousins are up to... explore the marine museum... play games... make art... say 'I love you' a hundred times."

Yesterday, as we were sitting in the school parking lot waiting for the drop-off doors to open, she began concocting a plan in which, instead of dropping her off, I kidnapped her and took her home to spend the day with me, then returned her to the school parking lot right before mommy got there so it would look like business as usual. This morning, she told me very earnestly that she was going to come to live with me in my trailer, if I wouldn't make her go to school (there was, she pointed out, plenty of room in my bed, and she'd help take care of Zhiva and Zinnia).

And even though I smile and tell her she's such a silly goose... part of my heart breaks.