Monday, September 21, 2009

That Kahlil Gibran Guy was Right...

"You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth..."

Smart dude. Although clearly, he never had to leave a Matthew at Junior Kindergarten, or else he'd have written something with little more....angst.

Today is Monday - a school day - and I expected tears and tummy aches because despite the success of Day One, on school days, Matthew is now seized by a panicked and uncontrollable need to do an "emergency poo" shortly before we leave the house.

As soon as the school comes into view, the tears begin to flow and Matthew often forgets how to walk - poof, just like that. It would funnier and perhaps a bit touching if it were someone else's son, you know?

In any case, this morning I was ready and organized: I fed him straight away and nagged him to eat it BEFORE we leave the house, which he did. I helped him get dressed so that he could still watch TV and not miss a thing - multitasking is not on Matthew's personal "learn-to-do" list. I didn't holler, not once. I drank coffee. I remembered to feed the boys vitamins.

Made it out the door with shoes on and no last-minute poos. The brisk walk was enjoyable and tearless, save a clumsy tumble into a shrub which was funny and touching especially because it was my son. As we neared the playground gate, Matthew suddenly perked up. Stretched up onto his tiptoes and smiled at a taller boy alighting from a minivan.

"That's William!" he crowed, grinning hugely now. I've been hearing about William. William is NOT invisible. William is not little. William is funny. William plays with Matthew at recess. William doesn't use a soother for sleeping, imagine that, Mummy?

William stood patiently, waiting for Matthew, but Matthew came down with a swift case of shy and turned into my leg. Still grinning.

I smiled at William and motioned him to carry on. "We'll go around this way and see you in there, ok?" And William, sweet William, nodded and smiled and then I too, was lost.

"William has a lovely face, doesn't he?" I mused aloud, not really expecting an answer.

Matthew: He has a lovely smile, too, Mummy. He's nice too, just like his smile.

The bell rang then and I braced myself - normally, I spend the better part of five minutes then peeling Matthew from my leg, offering fake-cheerful platitudes and a forced smile.

Not so this morning.

This morning, once the bell stopped clanging, Matthew hurried over to heave his knapsack onto his back and burrowed his way into the line up, next to William. Sweet William (whose elbow grazes the very top of Matthew's head) gave Matthew a cheery "Hey, Matthew!" and then looked over at me (speechless, proud...trying not to tear up and have to be peeled from Matthew's leg) and nodded, as if to say, "I got him. He's ok now, Mama."

And off they went, William, Sweet William's arm draped casually across Matthew's back, guiding him into the school. Matthew never looked back, not once.

Me? I cried all the way home.

"When you are joyous, look deep into your heart and you shall find it is only that which has given you sorrow that is giving you joy.

When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight. "

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