Doorway Dropoff

Today E's class started Doorway Dropoff on Thursday mornings. Doorway Dropoff is when your parents drop you off at the doorway and you put away your lunch and hang up your coat and take off your boots and put on your slippers and find an activity all by yourself, rather than with the accompaniment and assistance of said parents. Doorway Dropoff is in preparation for next year when the kids in E's class will be forced to leave the heavenly haven that is their perfect school and head out into the vast wilderness of school school.

(I don't know if I've actually blogged much about E's perfect school, which really is the perfection of schoolness. For the purposes of this post, all you need to know is that her school goes from 2-5 [years old, not o'clock] and she is in the oldest class, kindergarten, from which in June [or July or August, depending on whether they stay for the summer] everyone will be expelled into kindergartens and first grades all over Town and the surrounding vicinities, depending upon whether they keep going private or are switched, as E will be, finally, thank the financial gods, to public.)

There was much anxiety about Doorway Dropoff in the last several days, so this morning I did not mention it, though I did whisper to S that today was the first day of Doorway Dropoff, but he should not mention it (he takes M to school, I take E to school--this originated out of necessity and has evolved into insistent preference on the part of both children).

E remembered Doorway Dropoff in the car and immediately got anxious again, almost to the point of whimpering. I was cheery. She said she didn't want to do it. I said everyone was doing it and her teachers would help her. She asked if I would help her take off her coat. I said I would help her take off her coat at the door and she could put it away herself. Not in her cubby, she said, on her hook. Right, I said, on her hook. (In winter, coats and snowpants go on a long wall of hooks because there is not enough room in cubbies.) Then she changed the subject, though her affect was still a bit whimpery.

When we got out of the car at school, I handed her her lunchbox. She carried it for a bit, along with Bitty Baby, and then she asked if I would carry it. Till she got to the doorway. Sure, I said, I would carry it till the doorway.

By now I was apprehensive. E is often clingy in the mornings, though her clinginess has reached the point of routine. I take her into the classroom. We get out of the coat and boots and into the slippers. I ask her what she wants to do. She says Mama and clings to my leg. I ask her if she wants to choose something or go to a teacher. She shakes her head mutely. I take her to a teacher, the teacher puts an arm around her, I give her a kiss and leave. (Have I mentioned how incredibly great E's teachers are? They are the best teachers ever, all THREE of them.)

Given this routine, it seemed likely that I was in for some reluctance at the doorway. Indeed, when we got to the doorway and her teacher saw us from inside the room, she immediately got up and headed toward us. E paused to show me something on the bulletin board. I looked and then I told her it was time to go in. I gave her a kiss, and off she trotted, lunchbox and Bitty Baby in hand, as happy as could be.

Let's hear it for working out your anxieties ahead of time and facing the moment with aplomb!