Immediate relief followed by a wave of nostalgia, longing and generalized weepiness.
My daughter walked into Kindergarten like Sarah Bernhardt taking the stage. Despite an unscheduled fire alarm, despite a weeping mother (nope, not me) leaning against the door frame of her classroom, Sadie was fine. We saw her through the fence, heading out for the fire drill, hand in hand with some tow-headed fella in a striped shirt. She looked like she belonged.
My son, dove into second grade head first much in the way he dives into everything. I could see his big smile clear across the playground.
Afterwards, my husband and I drove to a strangely silent house. I swept and vacuumed. Paid those bills I've been trying to get to and organized the closet and then I just sat. The next nine months opened up wide to me. I'm filled with ideas. I've got seeds in the raised beds and stories in my brain. I'm ready to go.
We picked up the kids after school and celebrated a successful first day with frozen yogurt. Sadie said a boy had "snatched" some of her crayons and Theo wished he could take the walkie talkies to school so she could alert him to bullies.
"What would you do if she called," I asked.
"I would come and tell that guy to give back her crayons," he said.
I got misty eyed. My husband did too and then he ordered an extra sundae for us to share.
It was a great, great day.