First Day of School

I had a dream about how my daughter's first day of kindergarten would go. The bus driver would have to pry her off my leg and drag her onto the vehicle kicking and screaming because she didn't want to leave me. She would be crying hysterically as the bus pulled away, her face plastered against the bus window. I would be so emotionally spent from the experience that I would go home and eat an entire package of slightly stale store-bought cinnamon rolls. As my daughter returned home after a whole 2 1/2 hours at school, she would step off the bus and come running into my arms.

My dream came true, with a few minor exceptions. Camber woke up at the crack of dawn and immediately put on one of her adorable muumuus. To make her outfit extra attractive, she hiked her socks up to mid-calf and applied a temporary tattoo to her left bicep. At 6:30am, she asked "How much longer?" for the first time. By 6:40am, she had asked that question 10 more times. At 8 a.m., I opened the garage door and announced that it was time to walk to the bus stop. Before I could put my shoes on, Camber was half way down the street.
"Wait for me!" I shouted. No response.

At the bus stop, we were joined by three other kindergartners and their families. Everyone was taking pictures. Camber told me to put my camera away. When I refused, she turned her back every time I tried to take a picture.

When the bus pulled up, all of the other moms hugged their kindergartners and began to cry.
"I'm going to miss you Mommy!" wailed the children.
I reached for my kindergartner, but she was running full speed...away from me.
"I want a hug!" I wailed. "Please!"
"I've got stuff to do," said the kindergartner, as she climbed into the bus.
"Good-bye! Good-bye!" I waved as the bus pulled away. The kindergartner jammed her Princess backpack up against the bus window, blocking my view of her tears.

I was waiting, arms outstretched, when the bus returned with my loving child a few hours later.
"What are you doing here?" asked the kindergartner as she stepped off the bus.
"I'm here to meet you!" I responded, ignoring the rudeness.
"Don't come tomorrow," was the reply. "I want to walk home all by myself."

The five going on fifteen year-old then proceeded to march down the street. The trees hurried to move out of her way.

"How did it go?" asked my husband when he came home from work.
"She was pretty much devastated to leave me," I replied. "But with time, I think she'll be okay."