Connecticut Mom Shares Her Back to School Blues

Editor's note: This article was posted previously, but we brought it back again for back to school time in case you missed it the first time around, because so many moms, dads and caregivers can relate.

Written by Sarah Katz (Open Post)
RIDGEFIELD, CT — It comes every year, like it or not: that long awaited yet seems-so-far-from now first day of school. For many kids, it is something they accept and even look forward to. But there are always those kids who are wired just a little differently – dubbed "sensitive" or "intuitive" by well-intentioned friends – who see things just a bit differently than the masses.

And the first day of school is not something the "sensitive" ones always take lightly. I am always amazed by how differently two children spawn from the same gene pool can react to the same situation. When my daughter went to her first day of Kindergarten, I watched her through my held back tears board that giant bus all by herself with a huge smile on her face. She didn't know one single person in the entire elementary school, but she couldn't care less. When she got off the bus a mere three hours later, she barely said hello to me and began waving to the bus, shouting, "Bye!! See you tomorrow!!!"

Things were a just a bit different this time around. It all started the day we received the class placements. There was a lot of "who else is going to be in my class?" and "when do I start the full day?" and "how do I get lunch in the cafeteria?" Any answers I provided were met with further (or repeated) questions.
"I don't know who is in your class, but you're going to make lots of new friends!!!" I exclaimed, trying not to sound phony.

"No, I'm not," he stated, rather matter-of-factly.
"But you always make new friends!" I pushed on.

"How?" he probed, looking me directly in the eye.
"But you love school!" I was really stretching it here.

"No, I don't," he said. "I already know everything so why do I need to go to school?"
"Oh yeah? What's 56 times 48?" When in doubt, stoop low.

And so I proceeded to ramble on about how his sister didn't know anyone when she went to Kindergarten, how I didn't know anyone, how my husband didn't know anyone, and everyone gets nervous and it's OK to be nervous, when I looked up and noticed he had left the room.
As we all know, kids do not respond so well to long, boring, drawn-out stories. Nor do they care if anyone else has the same problem. In his little mind, this was not going to be a good day and there wasn't much I could say to convince him otherwise.

The morning of day one, my son awoke at the bright hour of 5:45 and tiptoed into my bedroom.
"Mom," he whispered, his little face about two inches from mine. "I can't sleep and I'm really hungry." I knew this was going to be a long day. "What time do we have to get to the bus?"

With one child excited and one not so much, we went to the bus stop across the street rather than wait alone in our driveway, the driving thought that a bus stop full of kids would be distracting and therefore therapeutic for my son as well as for me.
As we walked across the street, the questions ensued. "Are we always going to go across the street for the bus? What time does the bus come? How many kids are going to be on the bus?"

Fortunately, he was distracted by the gaggle of kids at the bus stop including one of his friends who lives up the street, and when the bus finally came, he even stopped to smile for a photo op. We both managed to remain dry-eyed, somehow.
When he finally returned home and got off the bus, I could tell the long day was just beginning.

"How was your day?" I said as I scooped him up, all 45 pounds of him.
"OK, I guess," he said, and looked away.

"Do you want to tell me about it?"
"Not really," he said and I saw the bottom lip start to quiver.

I had to think fast. "How about we go for ice cream?"
Never one to walk away from junk food, he agreed, and off we went in search of a treat fit for a little boy who looked very sad.

"The first days are always hard. It gets better," I attempted.
"OK," he said. Message clear: he did not want to talk about it.

A little relieved that I didn't have to bumble around for more trite sayings or meaningless rhetoric, we decided on a brownie from Starbucks which we both enjoyed immensely.
By the time my daughter got home, he was his old self again and I knew he was going to be okay. Though still not jumping for joy, he admitted that day two was a little better, and day three even better than that. I was pretty sure that he (and I) was going to make it.