It Goes So Fast

It goes by so fast is the adage you hear when you bring home a new baby.  All who have been there, done that, tell you repeatedly, "Enjoy these moments; they go by so fast."  Of course, these moments of cuteness and adorable behavior are sandwiched between diaper changes, sleep deprivation, endless buckling/unbuckling of car seats, trips to the doctor's office, and the pharmacy.  They take their baby steps, are potty trained, use a cup and utensils with reasonable consistency, and one day before you know it, you drop them off at preschool, then kindergarten, and you wonder how in the world it is possible they are in school?

In the beginning, you walk them to class and greet them each day when it’s done. You hang out on the playground with the kindergarten mom posse until the bell rings and the kids follow their teacher inside like a line of baby ducklings. Only then can you leave and take advantage of an hour or so of free time until you return to greet them upon dismissal. They still hold your hand. At some point, you get up the nerve to navigate the drop-off line, waving to the playground moms along the way.

They’ll Be Fine

You still greet them at the front of the school upon dismissal, but then comes the day you let them walk the two blocks to the car. There’s the day you run a few minutes late, leaving your child standing on the side of the road, and somehow, they survive. However, it is embarrassing when you pull up to find your son’s teacher hanging with him because she is apparently more concerned about his solitary roadside status than you. You now rule the drop-off line, cursing the rookies foolish enough to get out of their car or put the backpacks in the trunk. You barely slow down as your well-trained child vaults from the car and hits the ground running.

It goes by so fast, and suddenly, your baby is going to his last day of elementary school. Somehow, they’ve flown from the separate playground of kindergarten to owning the entire campus in 5th grade. The Star Wars backpack and light-up Velcro shoes have given way to laces and the nondescript black bag. The milestones, the gap-toothed smiles, proud homemade projects, Ancestry Day, school sing-alongs, and plays. The jackets and water bottles that were lost, never to be found again. Elementary school, the long march from glue sticks and scissors to all-grown-up rulers of the campus. The safe, “everyone’s a winner” world ends; a new chapter begins.

Moving To The Middle

The new chapter is Middle School, and the change is jarring. Suddenly they have multiple teachers and classrooms. Back-to-school night is a sprint from one class to the next, campus map in hand. Drop-off ratchets up to a whole new level. There are two lanes, different points of entry, and no kids in fluorescent safety vests waving “stop” and “go” signs. It’s every mom for themselves.

Occasionally, you see one of the kindergarten playground moms maneuvering through the line, but there’s no more chit-chat, no room mom, no weekly reminders, and no cute pictures on a shared Shutterfly site. Your kid looks like a baby compared to the 8th graders, who appear to be 18 years old. At some point, your kid tells you they will hang out downtown after school, and you don’t need to pick him up. Before you know it, your kid is one of those big 8th graders at the moving-on ceremony.

The Disappearing Act

And then there's High School and another bell schedule and drop-off/pick-up procedure to figure out. Your kid once again looks like a baby compared to the 26-year-old Seniors. After one or two years, they can drive themselves to school, and your detachment is complete. You communicate via text messages and they show up to be fed, sleep, and put on clean clothes.

There is the weekly newsletter and PTA updates, but unless your kid is in sports or band, there is little reason to set foot on campus. Teachers communicate with your kid, not you. No news is good news, you have to trust your kid can manage without you. There are robo VMs informing you that your child was tardy or absent from class. A letter arrives with the word “truant” in it, and you get worked up, fearing this might “go down on his permanent record” until you realize he will still graduate, and he wasn’t planning on going to Harvard anyway.

On A Need To Know Basis

Sometimes, a form needs a parent signature, but even those are few and far between. If you really want info and can remember your password, you can log into the Parent Portal and peruse your kid's grades. Mostly, you hope for the best and are fooled into thinking you’ve got this. Before you know it, the baby is a Senior, and you are faced with emails delivering an onslaught of details about the 115 activities taking place during the last two weeks of school.

How did we get here? Progress is slow and adds up in such small moments that you don't realize the total until one day, the little duckling who once held your hand is now holding a diploma. One afternoon, you make the mistake of driving near an elementary school at dismissal time and catch sight of a kid with a Star Wars backpack and Velcro shoes. You sigh and feel a wistful twinge for the innocence of your little one.

On the upside, when you receive an email explaining the awesome, brand-new registration system being implemented for the next fall, you happily hit “delete.”

It goes so fast.

Regina Stoops is an award winning storyteller, comedian, writer, producer, MS Warrior, and Autism Mom living with her wife and three kids in the San Francisco Bay Area.
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