A lump in the throat

My Chloe started school today -- and by school, I mean overpriced sand table and finger paints. I was told by the teachers "Don't expect them to come home READING. This is PLAY."A pretty idiotic thing to say to a group of crazy Manhattan parents with delusions of MENSA. Me being me, I volunteered to be Class Mom. I have no idea what this entails, but I already plan to wield my power to veto the lame snack offering -- Cherrios and water.

The hardest part of being and adult is acting like one. Chloe and I rode the bus together, arriving early. We sat on the benches outside a local university. As if time was not flying fast enough. She looked divine -- brand new dress, bursting with excitement (over the cookies I had brought, not the school). I felt a lump form in my throat, and I swallowed it quickly, along with the Nilla wafers. No crying allowed.

Her first days of school involve a phasing in process, where the parents slowly disappear. I watched her play blissfully amidst dilapidated toys, all new to her. Every few minutes she would remember and call to me, wanting me to join, tears filling her eyes when I encouraged her to keep going it alone. "Mama sit!" she would demand, handing me a dump truck. "All the kids earlier separated easily", one of the teachers commented. Already a "Needs Improvement"? I thought we had time before the red pen came out.

Somewhere in the middle of the hour, my phone rang. It was my husband. He had been seeing a doctor for a lump in his throat that had not gone away. At this morning's appointment, a CAT scan was recommended. I know it is nothing -- because it has to be. I fear even recording it here, infusing it with importance. And the doctor was sure it was nothing too, but wanted to be positive. And I had to be positive, upbeat...whispering "It's fine"s and "I'm not worried"s amidst "The Wheels on the Bus". I had to swallow the lump in my throat yet again, because the one in his is the one that matters.

The mommies are being ushered out the door, and it closes with a soft thud. It's time for everyone to be brave, I am thinking, and mentally instructing my little girl whose whimpering I hear behind wood. I am not sure who I need to soothe first. Just at that moment, my mom appears. And I unload, grateful to be a child first, and a little less brave, if only behind closed doors.