I wake up at quarter ’til seven
for a preschool that starts at nine,
no one can fault me for trying,
but we rarely get anywhere on time.
I nurse the baby as Big Brother dresses,
then pick up Sister crying at her door,
tell her to get ready for school
pointing to the outfit laid out on her floor.
She runs around in circles
as I try my hardest to get us dressed,
a task that should take a few minutes
has stretched close to an hour–at best.
Finally dressed we all brush our hair,
but Sister decides hers is not clean,
a glob of shampoo in her bangs,
and suddenly I become very mean.
Huffing down the stairs for breakfast
Daddy appears for my morning trial,
out with the camera bag for pictures,
but of course Big Brother won’t smile.
We finish our cereal a’plenty,
Sister smears some in her bangs,
for the second time I fix her hair
and try to still the anxiety pangs.
Out the door with backpacks and Baby,
and inside again for things I forgot,
I make one more attempt at a picture
and settle for an action shot.
Into the van we must go,
my patience is further and further slipping
when I look over at my two preschoolers
who are now frolicking in a bag of grass clippings.
We pull up to the preschool drop-off,
and my kids squeeze out the side door,
I watch as they leave with their backpacks
and realize they are babies no more.
Brother holding the teacher’s hand,
Sister, motionless, looks back with fear in her eyes,
as she is carried away with the teacher,
“It is I,” I think, “who will cry.”
I could go on and on about that moment
when I became ever so sad
looking on while my kids walked away,
not mine for the time to be had.
The truth of the matter is
the time was brief when I suppressed a tear,
and as I pulled away from that preschool
to the choir of moms I added my cheer!
Note to my preschoolers: I love you very much and treasure making wonderful memories with you both. With that being said, I will also treasure the three hours, two days a week when I only have one child at home with me!
Jennifer Vignola Davis 