The Seven Day Itch

Yesterday was the seventh day of school and if you would've asked me yesterday morning I would've said things were going well. Every day Sam seemed happy and engaged, Jake brought home positive reports, and Abby was adjusting well to her new status at day care - she is one of the oldest in her class now that her FIVE best friends left to attend their respective pre-K schools.

But yesterday morning she sobbed when I dropped her off, something she hasn't done since, well, never. "I just want to be with someone," she cried. Cue the guilt. "She's interacting with the other kids - slowly," her teacher told me. Cue the heartbreak.

And then yesterday at 2 I got a call from Jake's school nurse; he was complaining of a stomachache (he was not sick) and after I picked him up he informed me he was never going back. "Who made up school anyway?!" he demanded to know.

And then, last night, after a long and busy day, the dam that is Sam burst forth. He doesn't feel smart, he's homesick, he doesn't have friends, his classes are hard, his days are long, he has no time for reading or playing.

I tried to address each of his complaints but it wasn't working. "Why can't there be 30 hours in the day? Could I go to school only 4 days a week? Why can't I stay at home for school?"

I specialize in martyrdom, but I did my best to not remind him that not much of my day is my own either. But I did tell him that when you get older, your days fill up. And the best you can hope for is that they fill up with people and things you love. I told him that worrying is like rocking in a rocking chair - it may keep you busy but it gets you nowhere.

All eyes were dry by bedtime and deep down I was thinking everyone would feel a lot better after a good night's sleep. So when I woke Sam this morning I was hopeful that he would be ready to face a new day.

"I don't want to go to school today," he told me.