A new routine. A new building. A new process. All new people.
I was nervous.
Alexis was so excited to finally live the image of "summer camp" she had built in her head. She hadn't taken even a second to consider the magnitude of all of the changes. Her understanding of what would happen was limited to what she has seen on TV, and I'm not sure that Camp Rock had done much to prepare her for reality. "Will there be singing?" she had asked. "Do we get to dance every day?" she had inquired. Her expectations were high and insanely Disney-fied, even though we had worked to bring them down to earth where the only soundtrack to life is the one Alexis plays in her head.
As we pulled into the parking lot, a grin spread across her face. She was familiar with the building as I had made it a point to show it to her a few times in the past week. I nervously scanned for hints that would tell me which way we needed to go, even as Alexis grabbed my hand and drug me towards the first door she saw.
I signed her in. We set her lunch on the table where it belonged. I made her give me a parting hug and kiss just as I have every morning of her life. Her excitement continued to radiate. It wasn't until I said, "Go have a fun day!" and she turned to see the sea of new eyes that it hit her.
Everything was different.
Her body language instantly changed. She quickly crossed her arms across her tiny chest. Her chin dropped and her eyes searched the floor for answers. "Momma . . . " she whispered.
"Do you want me to walk you over to your seat?" I asked. There was one familiar face in the crowd--a good friend who had also grown up at the daycare center Alexis knows and loves. I suggested Alexis go sit next to her.
"OK," she whispered.
Together we walked across the room towards the smiling face, Alexis still doing whatever she could to avoid seeing all of the changes that were assaulting her. She was so tiny in that moment, so curled up within in her own head.
An unfamiliar voice cut through the morning hustle and bustle. "Kindergarteners! I need you to line up over here, please!" a staff person called out.
"Momma!" Alexis said. "That's me!"
She let go of my hand and ran to get in line.
The only tears were mine.
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"How was your day?" I asked. I ask the same question every day when I pick Alexis up after work. Usually her response is a whopping one syllable.
"Fine," she says. It's always, "Fine."
This time Alexis had to find a few more syllables.
"It was really fun!" she reported. I heaved a sigh of relief and then caught my breath as Alexis lowered her voice and squinted her face.
"But, Momma," she continued in a whisper. She looked around to make sure no one could hear what she was about to say. "They didn't make me take a nap."
"Kindergarteners are too big to have to take a nap," I told her. Obviously, I was relieved that her hushed confession was nothing more serious.
Here eyes grew wide and a huge grin spread across her face as she considered my words.
"AWESOME!" she yelled. "I love camp!"
