Inhaling Chaos : Warning Labels

Kids should come with warning labels. Seriously. All of them. Or maybe even like those cool allergy or medical alert bracelets. A quick way for people to be able to understand all of the different aspects of kids without having to dig too deeply or unearth anything that would be too distressing for anyone involved. As a school counselor I know it would make my like a whole hell of a lot easier. It would probably save me from any missteps that result from not seeing the whole picture, rather than just what it looks like. As a parent, I feel like we spend our kid’s lives preparing other people for what they may be walking into: She didn’t sleep last night, so she’s wicked this morning; She is absolutely not going to let you do her hair today, so it’s ok if she looks like a hot mess; We feed her but last night I held my ground and wouldn’t give her anything else to eat until she ate dinner-she refused. It’s almost like you are trying to be sure no one judges your baby (of her poor parents for that matter) too harshly for anything they encounter.

Kennedy had preschool orientation Thursday morning. She was excited and a little nervous too-probably an 85/15 split. Me? I was more like 40/60. I have been anxious all summer about her starting school. You see, I had a plan worked out in my head. When we had signed her up for school the beginning of January we made all of our plans around Jack. We picked days and times that would fit with what probably would have been a pretty busy rotation of various appointments for him. I was so happy that I would be able to take Kennedy to school myself and pick her up too, since we had planned for me to be home with the kids at least for a few months. The plans changed. When Jack died, strangely, I found myself wondering if I would even bother sending her. Forgive me for a moment while I sound like every other bragging parent: Kennedy doesn’t really need preschool for anything other than socialization. She knows her colors, can basically count to 30, and can identify a good amount of her letters. However, I am a realist and so I know that a social education is just as important and here is where we struggle: sharing, minding our own business, bossing others around, and tattling. I had worried that if we didn’t send her this year she would have another year around only adults and a special needs baby and continue to hone her old-lady character traits coupled with acting out because of a new sibling that required more attention than most new babies. Without Jack, I wondered if I should just put it off; try and keep her a baby for just one year more. I knew I couldn't though and so yesterday morning approached and I could feel my nerves getting shook.

We got ready, her wearing a dress she had chosen for herself over the summer. I tried making it very clear that on school days we do our hair, but still battled with her to get it tamed. I began to panic that I’d misread the letter the school had sent home weeks before and we were going to be leaving her there that day and what if she cried? I called to verify that I could take my girl home with us. She just quietly smiled and humored me. We took lots of pictures or her and with her to the point where she and daddy were both complaining, with me telling them we’d be doing this again on the ACTUAL first day next week, and Kennedy telling me she had to take a picture of me too on my first day- lots of forced smiles all around.

On the drive in I found myself amazed that this much time had gone by in her life. Amazed that we were taking this next step with her; we’d reached the school portion of the program. When we arrived she started to whine a bit, refused to bring her backpack inside. I talked her into hugging the giant stuffed bear the school has outside the doors, telling her it was for luck and if she hugged him tight enough he could take the worry away. I thought about hugging him myself, just incase my parental fib could have some truth to it. She hid behind my legs as soon as we were greeted. “Don’t worry,” I’d said, “she’ll be talking your ears off within 3 minutes,” hoping to warn them of my incessant chatterbox. As we gathered in the room where Kennedy’s class of kids, the ladybugs, would meet and other kids arrived, I saw the confident little girl most people know, greet the kids coming in as if it were her house she was welcoming them to. They played with Mr. Smee and Tick-tock Croc, talking about how they loved Jake and the Neverland Pirates, and I started to relax, everything was going got be just fine here; and then the babies started showing up.

Most of the families that enrolled their three-year olds in this program seemed to be around the same age as Sean and I. As they were showing up with their little boys or girls and babies looking to be right around the age Jack would have been and I was suddenly overwhelmed by the feeling that I was missing something so important at that moment; I could feel myself starting to panic. I looked around the room and found Sean’s eyes looking right at me as if he were saying, “It’s ok Tri, we’re almost done, and you’re going to be fine.” And it was almost done, as we were getting ready to go, with Kennedy assessing the quality of their free-play room, I must have had a distressed look on my face. The owner, a kind late middle-aged made her way over asking, “Are you doing okay, Mom?” explaining she’d been seeing these looks of uncertainty for years. She asked if we’d had any questions, and of course the question I’d asked was covered back in the meeting room- minus one brownie point for the mother that doesn’t listen (this should be on my warning label: doesn’t follow directions). She tried to reassure me that I could always call and check in on Kennedy or call and let them know if there was anything they needed to know.

Again, I could feel the tears starting to form so I quickly took a deep breath and decided to share part of Kennedy’s warning label, “Kennedy had a baby brother back in January,” she shook her head as if she expected me to say that she acts out because of a new sibling, “but he passed away and she talks about him, a lot, and sometimes reminds people that he’s died, so if she mentions it to the other kids or anyone else here I just want you to be prepared.” (Also, if I’m being honest, I didn’t want her to think our son passed away one weekend and I sent Kennedy to school the following Tuesday). She rubbed my back (which should also be on my warning label: Do not touch without an invitation to do so) and said nothing, which was just fine with me. We said thank you and goodbye, I wrestled Kennedy into her car seat, her screaming she wanted to stay, me promising I would leave her here on Tuesday, and I headed to work. I of course got my cry in the car once I was alone. I couldn't help it, it just felt so unfair to me that most parents warn of things like allergies to tree nuts or lack of sleep and I am having to warn about Kennedy talking about babies dying, or being the only 3 year old that understands what death is, and not because the goldfish was flushed to sea. I wiped my tears, salvaged my make-up and went into work (warning: may have mascara under her eyes for many years to come).

The weekend was jam packed and filled with fun: a rehearsal dinner, some very good friends' wedding, a run with a hangover, apple picking with cousins, but it left us all a little tired and cranky so it’s early bed for this bunch. A few more runs to get in before the big day, my first half marathon, next Sunday!