"Everything's Scary"

I'm spent.

I don't know if I can emotionally stomach another morning running from preschool in tears. What's the problem, you ask? For a week now, Lea has been in freak-out mode when I take her to school. The amount of mental and physical energy this requires is astounding. By 9:30 in the morning, all I want to do is climb into bed. A brief chronicle of my descent into Hell:

Day 1: "Mama, I don't want you to go," she says. This is the first time she's expressed any sort of trepidation about being left at preschool. Believing it's a fluke of some sort, I stay with her for a few minutes. A few minutes turns into 45 minutes. For some reason, she snaps out of it at that point, and I leave.

Day 2: "Mama, I don't want you go to," she says. Again. I stay for fifteen minutes. Then I go to Teacher J. and ask him what I should do. He tells me that this is her way of saying that she loves me and if there is any possible way for her to stay with me, she will attempt to find it. When you're ready, he says, kiss her good-bye and tell her you'll see her at Celebration Time. After ten more minutes, I do this. She wraps her arms and legs around me like a monkey, and I bring her to Teacher JP. I pry her off of me, and leave her with him. I then run out of the classroom bawling. Teacher J. meets me in the parking lot and gives me a hug. "It's hard," he says. To which I silently reply, "No fucking shit." When I call the school 30 minutes later, they tell me she's having a great day.

Day 3: She will not get out of the car. "I'm scared," she says. The tears stream. "Everybody's scary." I attempt, unsuccessfully, to refute her claim. I do and say all the stuff I'm supposed to say and still she will not get out of the car. I leave her there and go into the school. "I can't even get her out of the car," I say. We talk child psychology for a few minutes. As usual, the theories are perfectly sound. Executing the "solutions" is futile because the damn "solutions" don't work. Finally, I say, "Okay. What would you do if you were me?" Three teachers say: "Bring her in." I don't see her in the car at first. Why? Because she has climbed all the way into the back and is crouching in the corner. I can't pull her out. I have to release all the seats until it's totally flat and I can drag her out. She's crying, she's doing the stiff-as-a-board move, she's begging. I manage to carry her down the stairs while she screams, "I want to go home! Where it's cozy!" Teacher JP takes her from me, and I make for the stairs, crying as usual. When I call the school 30 minutes later, they say she's doing "super."

And when I get there to pick her up, she's all smiles and cotton candy. She talks incessantly about painting and playing and singing and whatnot. When we pick up her sisters, she tells them, "I had a great time at pweeeschool." And I guess she did. And I guess this is going to get easier.

But I'm not going to count on it just yet.