Ah, another weekend gone. It seems as though we just turn around and it's Sunday night.
For the first time in well over 2 months, Ché cried at being dropped off at school this morning. I'll admit that the morning didn't start out the best, but man I feel so guilty about leaving him when he's crying. The smooshed up reddening face does it every time.
See Ché is not an early riser, and much prefers to play in his crib for about 20 minutes before actually getting out. If you get him out too quickly it can turn into a really crabby morning. Unfortunately for all involved, we don't have that luxury on Mondays. Ché goes to school on Monday mornings and stays until one of us picks him up from school. It was really hard in the beginning, he would cry and reach for us as we walked out the door, but eventually he got used to the other kids and teachers, and started to enjoy it. We knew it was golden when he would immediately let go, and run up the little bridge steps, turn wave good-bye and throw us a kiss. It wasn't hard, no one felt guilty, and Ché has really been learning things, some good (shapes and colors), some bad (hitting and pinching. But over Christmas time Mike was home and I was home and Ché didn't visit school for 3 weeks. I sometimes forget that 3 weeks is an eternity in the mind of a 2 year old, and didn't realize that this morning was fated to go smoothly.
Mike and I made plans last night, we were together on our idea and it was going to go well. HA! Mike was going to take Ché to school, and I was going to pick him up. That all changed this morning though, a 7:15am call from Mike's boss needing a ride for the tire store, meant I was now taking Ché. No big deal, except Ché wasn't having any of the getting up. He latched onto a hanger of all things and wouldn't let it go, untabbed his diaper leaving him diaperless in our bed with footie jammies unzipped. (Quite a scene if you ask me) and refused to go to the potty or get a new diaper. I finally asked him if he wanted to use the potty, #1, or get a diaper #2. My child always picks #2. It's a favorite number. So, off we went kicking a crying to get a diaper and change clothes.
This did not go well. He threw the aforementioned hanger, kicked and screamed whilst getting a diaper and changed, and then sulked the rest of the morning, until presented with a tangerine. Then his mood changed and I thought "Yes, here we go, this is the Ché I know," and walked out the door to school. No fighting with the coat as it was 57 degrees this morning and the vest was just fine and we sang songs and talked about all the people at school on the 10 minute trip.
Ché willing got out of the car, held hands and walked so confidently into the building, down the hall to his little classroom and froze at the half door. He wouldn't budge. He wouldn't move, and wouldn't be coaxed to enter that infernal room. Finally his teacher took his hand and led him to the little table where the kids eat their meals. I signed him in, got his masterpiece artwork from his folder, and went over to say goodbye. He gave me a great big hug and a kiss, I told him to have a great day and that I would be back to pick him up later, and walked towards the door.
I turned to say goodbye and blow him a kiss and that's when it started:
Scrunched up face, red cheeks, moistening eyes, and all. Ché needs a work up time to crying, so no noise immediately escapes. What was I to do? I knew going back would make it worse, but boy do I feel guilty walking away. I chose the latter and cringed when I heard his cries break through as I walked to the exit.
So my question today I guess is this: What do you do when you know you have to leave and your child cries? Do you have this same problem, or did you when your kids had to be left at a caretakers? How do you deal with the guilt? How do you handle tough transitions?
On another note, Ché has to move to the 2's room soon, due to age and numbers of children in the classes, and I'm sure that's not going to go well too.