I had so much nervous energy this week I actually cleaned the house from top to bottom. I scrubbed. I swept. I vacuumed. I remember doing this 5 ½ years ago when I was waiting those nine-extra-uber-pregnant-fun-filled-ankle-swollen-days for my son to be born. I just kept moving stuff around in his nursery.

So today, on his very first day of kindergarten, even though I’d prepped everything I could possibly prep ahead of time, I was up at 5:00am. I emailed. I straightened. I moved his backpack literally three times to various places throughout the house. Loooooots of nervous energy.

I breathed a sigh of relief when he woke up because he was so excited, he got dressed in five minutes, which has never happened. He veered from my “first day” wardrobe plan and chose his gecko t-shirt vs. the orange striped one I’d actually ironed. But whatever, I didn’t want to break the positive momentum.

He ate cereal. He ate an egg. He drank his milk. He played in his room for a while…my husband brushed his hair again. Then, with the clock ticking down to “8:30am cross the street to get the bus time” I called him into the bathroom to brush his teeth…

“But Mom, I need to ask you something first!”

“OK, hon, come ask me in the bathroom.” I’m standing at the sink, with his toothbrush fully loaded.

He walks over to the toilet, puts the seat down, and sits. I’m slightly puzzled, standing with my hands on my hips trying not to visibly tap my foot. I have carefully orchestrated the last 3 hours, the last 3 days, 3 weeks…heck, the last 5 ½ years to get to this moment, but I’m trying to remain the perfectly patient, relaxed mom.

“I need to sit down to ask you,” he says.

Hmm. I’m sensing a burning question coming on…like when do we eat snack at school? Or, will they have toy lizards there? He sits with his little legs dangling over either side of the bowl. A look of concentration on his face, he looks up at me.

“Mom, why did Jesus go to heaven before I could meet him?”

Huh?

NOT the inquiry I was expecting. I instantly suspect that the previous 2 ½ years at his Christian preschool may be coming into play now. In my emotional, anxious state I’m thinking perhaps this is a sign that some divine intervention is working in our favor, and I don’t actually need to have my husband follow the bus in his car.

I explained that Jesus went to heaven a long, long time ago and then I gently remind him that we should brush his teeth…

“But Mom, I have one more question.”

“Yeessss?”

“Do spiders die?” Yes.
“Do fish die?” Yes.
“Do lizards die?” Yes.
“Do birds die?” Yes.

I was tempted to thwart this litany of questions with a quick lesson on how all living things eventually die, but decided that discussion might be better saved for a day when we’re not getting on the bus for the very first time in 15 minutes.

“OK, buddy, time to brush your teeth.”

So we cleaned up, grabbed our backpack and with Daddy and little sister in tow, we ventured across the street to the bus stop and within a few minutes, WHOOSH. There was the giant yellow bus. He gave us a quick kiss, walked up the steps, turned and waved for a photo (thanks to the encouragement of the driver). And he was gone.

I sat on the front stoop and shed a few tears. I went to the grocery store and shed a few tears. I made him cupcakes. And seven hours later, the bus came back.

He sat at the kitchen table devouring his cupcake while we bombarded him with questions…

“How was your first day?”
“Did you talk to Mrs. Mario?”
“Did you make any new friends?”
“Did you have fun?”

He nodded, he mumbled. We didn’t get much elementary school intel. Then, looking up at us with those big, blue eyes, and breathing a weary sigh of a little boy whose head was full of the sights, sounds and adventures of a very long first day, he said…

“I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

Our burning questions would have to wait…for all of us, it was a day of divine proportions.