Oh, The Places You’ll Go!

Isaiah on his first day of (Play)School

“You’re off to Great Places!
Today is your day!
Your mountain is waiting,
So… get on your way!” 

― Dr. Seuss, Oh, The Places You’ll Go!

My dearest Isaiah,

I’m writing this to let you know two important things which transpired on your first day in the playschool, 2nd of September 2019.

First is that your dad and I were there to drop you off, to see you through in the first fifteen minutes of your new adventure. I prepared your outfit for the day while your dad tended to your snacks bag. It was a Monday morning and we were late for work, but it didn’t matter.

We needed to be there for you in case you changed your mind and decided you were not yet ready for a three-hour-long social interaction. In case the new faces frightened you, the new environment overwhelmed you. In case you needed a cuddle, an encouragement, a thumbs up, a smile.

Second, none of us cried. At least outwardly, there was no drama. Inwardly though, I did. You faced the new adventure head-on and with such an unexpected gusto that I was torn between being proud of your independence and being in denial of the fact that you are not so little anymore.

As for your part, you were a bag of excitement! You couldn’t be bothered with photos, you didn’t want to smile. You just wanted us to go and drop you off!

***

Since when did you start growing up my Zeya? Yesterday, you were just a tiny and fragile newborn baby whose dependence on me exhausted me in a million ways I was never exhausted before. I wished for this day to come three years ago when all I wanted to do after you were born was to press pause to motherhood and sleep for 24 hours straight and let you get on with life.

Here we are, in a way, letting you get on with life, letting you go places, ushering you to the door, out beyond the magical closet where your current Narnia awaits. Three years have gone by quick and short. I can’t say I wasn’t warned of this—The days are long; the years are short.

It’s my desire to homeschool you Zeya, a dream planted in my heart long before you were born, long before you were conceived, and for many reasons worth articulating in another place and time. For now, I surrender the dream to God’s hands while we wait for the right time.

For now, I release your morning to the playschool, and I’m hoping it is all that it promises to be—a place for unstructured play and a place to encourage interaction with other kids.

So off you go… Play and make friends. I want to hear all about it when you come home.

Love, Mom.


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