For the first time in eight years, my house is empty. And will be that way until the bell rings at 2:30 this afternoon. I dropped off my baby at kindergarten this morning.

I expected it to go smoothly, after all, he is a younger sibling who has been hanging around his brother's school for years. He knows his way around the monkey bars, the bathrooms, the soccer field. Yesterday, he strutted into the kindergarten orientation like the Big Man on Campus, with his embroidered polo shirt.

Today, he pouted like a toddler on his way to school. We left fifteen minutes early for a five minute bike ride. And yet, we arrived ten minutes late.

"My hair is sticking out of my helmet!" he cried, before we had left the driveway.

He stopped at numerous times on the one block trip to school, convinced that he "looked doofy". This is not a child who is usually concerned what people think of him. For a year, he wanted to wear pajamas (must be striped) everywhere. After tiring of that phase, he unselfconsciously donned a Star Wars jedi cape wherever he went.

So when he was practically in tears on the sidewalk this morning, I knew the bad hair was not the real reason. I understand there is a little bit of pressure involved with starting school. Who will be my friends? Will the work be hard? What if I don't know what to do?

I know. Because after having been a full-time mom and part-time everything else for more years than I had ever intended, sending my youngest to school marks a new beginning for me, too.  

"What are you going to do, now that both kids are in school?" everyone asks.

I dodge the question, citing my obligations to volunteering, driving carpool, and just being there for my boys. But I know that part of me is acting like a five-year old, stalling on the sidewalk en route to his first day of kindergarten. Because it is scary. And it is easier to make excuses instead of trying.

© 2010 Grace Hwang Lynch