To infinity and beyond

Camden marched into my room this morning and announced that he was going to get dressed for school - super fast - because he didn't want to be late. Oh, if that's how this entire kindergarten year goes, then hallelujah, it'll be a breeze! Camden's first day of kindergarten, a day in his school where parents join the kids for about 90 minutes then all go home together, was wonderful. He was excited, if nervous. At home he tucked his shirt tail into his pants. He ate a peanut butter sandwich as well as two bowls of cereal. He wore his new Buzz Lightyear backpack that we picked out as soon as the Disney store put them on display. He looked surprisingly ready for this monumental day - a day that would set the stage for the rest of his school years.

But I could sense the nervous shyness he felt as we made our way to the school building. He let go of my hand when we got near the front door. He peeked into the cafeteria with awe. He marveled - yes, marveled - at his nap mat standing in his cubby. ("It's the third one!" he told me as he spotted his name.) He wondered around the classroom in a quiet and reserved way that made me wonder if this child was, indeed, my Camden. Yes, he was a little bundle of nerves, but he was ready, and I was so proud of him I could have hugged him forever. (But to save him the embarrassment, I refrained.)

His teacher is a wonderful woman. She is patient, quiet, and loving, yet authoritative enough to command their attention in the nicest way. I think she's a perfect match for Camden. God surely had a hand in finding a great first teacher for my son. Tomorrow I will entrust him to her care. He'll ride the bus in the morning, sit on her rug, follow her rules, meet her expectations, and come back home to me in the afternoon. I cannot wait to see what he tells me about his day. I know enough about kids to know that I need to ask questions that require more than a one-word answer. Tomorrow I'll delve, push, even annoy him into telling me what happened on this first real day of kindergarten. He'll answer at first, then he'll get frustrated that I'm keeping him from talking to his other friends, so I'll stop till dinnertime. But I'll keep up my pleas for details. After all, I have a blog to keep, a scrapbook to record, and a need to know how he accounts for the seven hours he spends without me. Hmmmm. That's seven hours a day for the next 13 years. Then countless hours a day for the rest of his left. Whew. That just hit me like a ton of bricks. I suddenly feel like I've wasted the very precious seven extra hours I've had with him for the first five years. It seems the time has gone to infinity and beyond.