My first born child went to public school. My husband knew me very well and arranged to go into work late that day. He wanted to be able to take our son for his first day of school, which I thought was very touching as a father to have our entire family together for this momentous occasion.
I had no idea the real reason was because my husband knew he needed to be there for me.
Me? What do he think I was going to do? Most parents were giving themselves high 5′s and smiling from ear to ear. Surely I was going to be one of those parents.
I held myself together and was smiling and happy for my son, while inside was a mix of emotions. I was proud of myself up to his point and frankly shocked that I was doing so well. But all must come to an end.
Then came time for the children to sit on rainbow line. The teacher told the children to turn around and wave to the parents. That was it. No hug or kiss or goodbye. Just a wave. I was prepared for a hug and a kiss but not a wave. I smiled and waved back and turned around.
I was terrified.
The door closed behind me and I was safe. I did it. My son never saw a tear.
At that very moment I turned into a blubbering idiot.
My husband could not figure out why it took so long. All the way through the school’s halls I cried. I tried hiding it to all of the strange new faces of parents who were seeing me at one of my worst moments. I failed miserably.
The school graciously provided a parent breakfast, which meant I sat there all puffed up and red in the face from crying. I was not attractive at all and I could not hide it or run from it. Another mom gave me a tissue. Oh yes. It was that bad.
Now, I am on the flip side of schooling and my youngest child is starting kindergarten. We have no meet the teacher nights, backpacks to pick out, lunch boxes to debate over, or back to school clothes shopping to do. We are homeschooling.
I am terrified.
My first born son entered homeschooling with all of the essential tools already in place for me to run with it. My education degree was geared toward the upper grades and early childhood was of no interest to me when I was getting the degree. I can’t go back, but I wish I could just so I could concentrate on the foundation and essential parts that are building blocks for a lifetime.
I am the teacher. The one who will determine what the future holds for my youngest son academically. It is all up to me what he learns and does not learn.
I love him and I want the best for him. Some days I don’t feel I am the best but I push on. I move forward, knowing full well that God has called me to home school, knowing full well that I am my own worst critic. Worry and self-doubt begin to creep in, even though he can already count to 100 all on his own and knows quite a few sight words already. Some days though that is not enough to take away the fear of failing my son and myself.