First days

Ethan, aged 4, started preschool on Tuesday morning.  He attends the same preschool Elias did with the same teacher, Ms. Marie.  Even so, we visited the school several times throughout the summer to reintroduce Ethan to Ms. Marie and his classroom.

He was nervous, of course, asking me if Elias was going with him to school?  Was he riding the bus with brother? Am I staying with him the whole time?

I stressed that he would have fun.  Learn to write his alphabet and numbers.  Learn to identify his colors.  Make art stuff.  

Elias is a seasoned first grader now, so he seemed to transition back to school with ease.  We visited with his new teacher on Friday before school started.  He seemed excited to see his friends again.  Come Monday morning, he quickly waved prior to climbing on the bus and he was off without a backwards glance.

Come Tuesday morning, preparation for school sailed along nicely.  Both boys were cooperative.  This time, Elias didn't even pause to wave or say goodbye prior to bounding on the bus.  He's a seasoned pro now.

Ethan, on the other hand, when I dropped him off, clutched his teacher Ms. Marie, his beautiful face scrunched up, crying as I left the room.  I pasted on a false smile, told him to have fun and I'd be back later to pick him up.  I quickly left the room so he wouldn't see the tears gathering in my eyes.

Tears because he was upset.  Tears because my boy is growing up, learning to be independent from his mother.  From his brother.  From his father.  All of us.  It's a contradictory, tender, doughy place in your heart as a mom on the first days of school.  On the one hand, you cheer that you start to evolve back to your autonomous self when the kids go back to school.  No little hands clutching at your legs as you try to vacuum.  No knocks on the bathroom door when you're peeing.

And yet, there is that silence.  The absence of little voices laughing and calling out MOM!

I went off to work that day, trusting that Ethan calmed himself down within a few minutes of my departure.  That he had fun.

And of course, he did.  According to Ms. Marie, he behaved as exactly as I trusted he would.  He calmed down and got to playing.

This morning, Elias woke up in a temper, declaring that he didn't want to go to school.  That he couldn't endure another day.  It's Elias's third day of school and already the attitude.

I just asked Ethan how he liked school yesterday, and he said it was boring.  Already the attitude.  

Kids!

Time for Prayer

I have a monkey mind.  I can't even focus long enough to finish a prayer in silent meditation.

This is how my mind wanders as I attempt mindfulness:

Deep breath.  Feel the breath fill up my lungs.  Feel my chest expand.  Feel my chest deflate as I slowly exhale.  Focus.

My lungs hurt. Burn a little, actually, from the humidity, which triggers my asthma.  Only in Maryland (ok, maybe all of the southeast, too) can you actually feel the air, it's so thick.)  I really hate humidity.  Is there any place to go without humidity that isn't 110 degrees in the shade?  Probably not. 

Oh, yeah.  I was praying.

My right knee is screaming because I'm sitting on the floor criss-cross applesauce style.  (Or Indian style but that's politically incorrect to say these days).  I'm too old to sit on the floor like this.

Oh, prayer.  Right.

Jesus.  What do you want me to do? Seriously.  Open my heart so I can learn my purpose.  Hear your calling.  Recognize the blessing of the Holy Spirit.

Maybe I should use my inhaler?  Where is my inhaler anyway?  I think I need to get that perscription renewed.  Ack.  That will mean a trip to the doctor's office.  Dumb, waste of time.  Just give me another inhaler.  Please and thank you.  It won't be that easy.  It never is.

Oh.  Back to prayer.  Focus.

I read Psalm 1.  Seems like as good as any place to start, followed by more prayer.

What else, Jesus?  I've resisted you for a very long time.  Apostasy.  Christian atheism as Craig Groeschel calls it and rightly so.  What more do I have to do to learn to trust you? To learn to trust in the Power of the Holy Spirit?

Does writing count as prayer?

"Mom!  Mom? Are you up there?" Thump, thump, thump.  Little feet pound up the stairs.  "You have to come see this.  Mummies are infecting the noses of the clone troopers."

Wait.  What? "Do you mean worms?"

Elias shakes his head vigorously.  His chest is heaving from rushing up the stairs, from excitement.  "Yes.  Worms.  They are crawling up the clone troopers noses and effecting them." (He means infecting but he says effecting.  It's cute.)

As Elias launches into a detailed explanation about worms infecting clone troopers and possessing them, I notice that he is pale.  There are dark circles around his eyes.  He's tired.  He is an early riser, my first born.  (He didn't inherit that trait from me.)  It's time for bed.

Prayer time over.