I put my boy on the big yellow bus on Thursday. Well, more like I gave him a big hug and he broke free and hurled himself up the steps and into a seat. I only barely had time to snatch up my camera and snap one of those iconic little kid getting onto the bus for the first time pictures.
And then off he went. For nearly four hours I had butterflies in my tummy, worrying about if the other kids were nice to him, if he was behaving himself, if he liked school. The hardest part was trying to balance between two wants: wanting him to be brave and independent while also wanting him to still need me. To still be my little boy that wants to hold my hand and needs my presence.
At 3:30 he hopped off the bus and snatched up his scooter from where he had lovingly left it in it's place of honor among all the other bikes and scooters that waited for their kids to come home on the bus. Matt and I had gone to the bus stop to meet him as he got off, but Ethan wouldn't say a word to us until he had ridden all the way home, almost like it was a ritual that had to be completed before giving his attention to anything else. He was one of the big kids now, and he was treating his new role with great respect. He didn't have much to say about kindergarten, other than he liked it and was excited to go back. I was happy that he seemed to make the transition so effortlessly, but I'll admit I was just as happy that he still wanted (needed?) me to sit in his room that night until he fell asleep.