Who's really struggling?

With the second week of school tucked safely behind us, it's time for me to do a little reflecting. As I had predicted, the week that contained Paul's first full days and maiden voyages on the school bus did invoke some worries in my boy. And in me.

As the hours until bedtime dwindled last Monday night, Paul's anxieties began to mount. It's always evident with him because he begins to ask a lot of questions. How am I going to get to the bus? How will Ben find me? What if I can't sit with Ben? And the statement that about broke my heart: I don't want to go to school, I want to stay with you, Mommy. Feeling sad for the umpteenth time these past few weeks, I promised that Paul's teacher would get him safely to the bus, that we'd ensured Ben would be able to wait for the bus with Paul, that Gus and I would walk down to his bus stop to greet him when his bus arrived. Furthermore, I said that we'd give the bus a try for this first week, and if he really didn't like it, I could start picking him up instead. Paul's worries were assuaged, for the moment anyway, though my malaise lingered.

The next morning went fine. No tears during the drop-off at school. When I met Paul at the bus, he was smiling. However, soon he told me rather emphatically that he did not want to take the bus again the next day. Using the rationale that if taking the bus was the one issue that was getting in his way of feeling comfortable at school, I slipped into his folder a note to his teacher saying that I'd pick him up that day.

That afternoon, the phone rang. It was Paul's teacher. First of all, there was confusion because Paul was insisting that I was picking up, but my note must have gotten shoved down in his folder because his teacher hadn't seen it. After I cleared up that I was indeed picking him up, it quickly became clear that his teacher was irritated with me for giving in so soon. She delivered a mini-lecture about the need for consistency. I felt affronted, tried to explain that I was viewing the situation as his mom, trying to shield him from discomfort. She stood her ground, saying that he cries at the end of the day whether he gets picked up or takes the bus. That was true so far, but, but ... OK, she was right, a fact that took me a while to admit to myself.

That night we came up with a plan: Paul would take the bus home from school but would be able to choose one day a week to be picked up. Thursday and Friday both were successes. Paul had some tears on Thursday and none on Friday. 

So who really was struggling so much? As much as the 5-year-old boy, it's the 34-year-old mom who's having a hard time letting go and maybe was secretly hoping her boy would need her to pick him up. I've learned now, though, I've learned. I think we'll both be happier now that Paul's conquered a fear and I have, too.