Dear Kindergarten,

I’ve waited patiently for you to arrive for years (“five and a half” to quote my daughter). I’ve made it through sleep training and potty training. I’ve taught my oldest child to be polite, recognize letters, say various animal sounds and point to a myriad of body parts (perhaps she’ll thank me when she’s a hostess, teacher, vet or doctor one day). I’ve even imagined the in-ground pool and second floor addition I’m going to add to my home with the daycare money I’ll be saving by sending her to public school. But, dear Kindergarten, you are rapidly approaching and I find myself in what I’ve affectionately named The Four Stages of Back-to-School Grief.

First, there’s Regression.

In the ramp up to Kindergarten, all the focus on “being a big girl” can lead to the opposite happening. It begins with the reappearance of constant thumb-sucking, asking for lids to be put on cups and frequent potty accidents. And that’s just me. My preternaturally mature girl, normally a beacon of responsibility, has already succumbed to the pressure and reacted in the most normal 5-year-old way ever: constant whining and complete relapse into toddler-hood. I’ve taken to rocking her gently while whispering “suck it up, buttercup” in her ear while she sleeps.

Next comes Sadness.

I am cynical and mostly unsentimental. One day a therapist will tell my kids it’s part of my charm. But when I first read the back-to-school list, I had tears in my eyes. I mean, buying an art smock and the 16 pack of crayons means shit’s getting real.

Then we arrive at Rage.

Oh, and by shit’s getting real, I mean my type A is raging. Out. Of. Control. Since when did the first day of school actually start with an open house, orientation, kindergarten practice day, a day off (just for fun!) and THEN the first day of school? All on separate days, because why make a working mother’s life easier? My district is making a mockery of calling it the “first day of school” – let’s just call it the fifth day of trying to figure out who is getting my kid off the bus and call it a day. Yes, it makes total scheduling sense for me to bring my kid to the playground for a “kindergarten meet and greet” for an hour on a Tuesday. And not bring my other children. And let’s discuss school supplies. While in no way do I feel this should be a teacher’s responsibility, this list is oddly specific and frankly a little ridiculous. If I ever ran for public office, my first campaign measure would be to allocate that a portion of our taxes be put in a “Ridiculously Specific School Supply Fund.” This fund would provide school children with loose leaf paper, tissues, aforementioned 16 pack of crayons, eye of newt, a blue three-ring binder, a red one-inch binder, a violet trapper keeper, 4 pencils and a bay leaf.

And finally we arrive at Acceptance.

I worry she won’t know which day to take the bus home and which day to go to the after-school program. I worry she will be the last one picked up. I worry she won’t eat her lunch and be hungry. I worry she’ll be afraid to ask to go to the bathroom. I worry other kids won’t be nice to her. I worry she won’t be nice to other kids. But then I remind myself that all this helicopter parenting and worrying will keep my first-born from building character. (Now pause and repeat that last sentence to yourself. Poof! Mom guilt, be gone!)

So, my lovely Kindergarten, you’ve already taught me so much about myself and you haven’t even started yet. I look forward to the back-to-school nights and buying my co-workers coffee in exchange for covering during the 11am “mommy and me tea” times. And whenever I feel overwhelmed, I’ll just remember, “Suck it up, buttercup.”

Until we meet again in two years,

Nicole