Friday.
I kept my head high, as I always do when I’m trying to stave off the itching feeling that I’m headed towards personal failure. This is me. The more ominous the feeling of failure, the higher my head. As if looking more confident will prepare me, no, protect me from the heart crushing realization that I’ve messed up royally.
I glanced to the left of me and passed what seemed like countless classrooms. Each one filled with happy children. Happy to be there, well adjusted, not crying, not missing their mommies so bad that they couldn’t calm down long enough to even eat their snacks or lunch.
They had said that the crying usually stopped after the second week. But, still, that morning when I dropped her off, she had cried. A lot. She had pleaded for me not to leave. But I did. Because that’s what you’re supposed to do.
You’re supposed to let them go, and let them cry until they figure out how to stop on their own. They’re supposed to stop. Even if they are the only one crying. Even if you hear an aching loneliness in their wailing that is unlike any wail of loneliness you might have ever imagined.
On that first day of week three, I arrived home and logged into the school’s webcam with a hopeful spirit to see if she had stopped crying after I left. Perhaps, I would see her happily coloring a picture of Strawberry Shortcake. Perhaps she had come to accept that I would, in fact, be back, and that the place where I had left her wasn’t so bad after all.
The camera loaded and I gazed at the fuzzy pictures trying to make out where my daughter was. I saw her, she looked happy. She was listening intently to the guest teacher instructing the children how to count in Japanese. My little girl seemed surprisingly content, and I let out a big sigh of relief as a smile involuntarily erupted on my face.
Triumph.
And then I noticed her feet, the shoes were red.
My daughter wasn’t wearing red shoes when I dropped her off.
That happy, content little girl was not mine. I looked harder and saw the teacher pass in front of the camera being closely tailed by a petite dark haired three year old who was clearly screaming her head off.
My heart sank. That one is mine.
Her teacher had told me that almost every day for the past two weeks my baby had been following her around the classroom repeatedly saying “I want my mama” over and over again until I came to pick her up.
The teacher had also assured me that she’d had kids do this before, and I wasn’t to worry. I noticed, though, that the teacher wasn’t looking at her right now. She was ignoring my daughter. Probably some well tested approach that was obviously not working on my child. She was just walking around doing other stuff while my daughter painfully, tearfully begged for me.
My baby girl was alone. Completely alone. And in that moment, every moment of loneliness I had ever felt in my own life surged from my body and formed a big lump in my throat. I put my head down on my desk and I wept. Loudly.
After the ocean of tears became a light drizzle, I called my husband. “I can’t take this anymore. I’m going to get her.”
“Faiqa,” he said in a calm, reassuring tone, “turn off the webcam. Go do something else until it’s time to pick her up.”
I wanted to scream at him, “This is all your fault, I told you she wasn’t ready, you made me put her in school, I know her best, you were all wrong…”
But, I knew that was the pain speaking and that it just wasn’t true. The truth was that I had been hypnotized by the promise of bi-weekly Mandarin and Japanese lessons, the possibility of elementary mathematics and the potential of her reading in full sentences by the time she was four.
I hadn’t even considered that maybe all she needed was a place where she could color, be messy, and laugh.
I choked out a barely comprehensible, “OK.” And, then, in a voice so small and so vulnerable it could have been my own daughter’s, I said, “How long are we going to do this?”
“We’re giving it until the end of the week. If she’s still crying the whole time by Friday, we’ll pull her out. OK?” I could hear the sympathy mixed with awe in his voice.
He’s not used to me being like that. I don’t ask people what I should do or ask for permission to do it.
I sighed and barely croaked out an inaudible, “OK” once more.
Friday came and I happily withdrew her from school.
I hadn’t looked at that stupid webcam all that week. Still, every time I went to pick her up, her teacher smiled and said, “She did alright.” Then, she would pretend like she was looking at some papers, picking something up or tending to another child and say, “She still cried a lot, though.”
She still cried a lot, though.
Every time I think of those words, my eyes sting with tears caused by a pain that remains fresh and very real. My heart drops. Even now, one year later, after seeing my daughter blossom into a more adventurous, yet still markedly reserved four year old, I weep over what in my mind lives as a colossal parenting fail.
Because God knows, that experience wasn’t her failure. It was mine. I should have known that she wasn’t ready. I should have known that this wasn’t the right school for her. I realize now that her first school was a place where what was being learned was a little more important that who was learning. I know that now. I also know that most kids fit into that particular school just fine, but mine didn’t. I can’t believe to this day that I didn’t realize that right away.
I was never disappointed in my daughter. I think I will always be disappointed in and ashamed of myself over this.
My little girl starts a new preschool today. The orientation was this past Thursday, and afterward I slowly approached her new teacher. I wanted to tell her about last year, and how hard of a time N. had those three weeks.
“I wanted to let you know,” I said, “that we put her in preschool last year, and it was a bad experience, the school… she didn’t fit in…” Tears started to form in my eyes. I began to stutter.
If you know me well, you know that I never stutter. I am never at a loss for words. I seldom lose it in front of people I know very well, let alone those that I barely know. I fought those tears back as hard as I could because I could see the discomfort in the other woman’s eyes.
She looked at me and said sympathetically, “Don’t worry, we are very loving and caring here. We’ll make sure that she’s OK.”
I whispered, “I know, I can see that… I’m just am so worried…” I tried to regain composure, “Uh, I have these forms…”
“Oh, yes, let me see…” I could see the new task brought relief to her face and she scurried off as quickly as is humanly possible with those forms.
Tariq walked in and his face flew into a concerned look, “What happened? Are you crying?” he whispered in surprise.
I looked at him, pleadingly. Don’t make me talk about this right now. Don’t make me talk about this ever again.
He understood at once and put his arm around my shoulder. “It’s going to be fine, I think she’ll do well this time. Insh’Allah.”
Insh’Allah. As God wills.
God, please let it be your will to make this time easier for my daughter. And for me.
God, please let it be your will that this new teacher understands my daughter in a way that the last one did not.
God, please let it be your will that this school helps her blossom into the person I know she can be.
God, please let it be your will that everyone else sees how magnificent, funny, voracious, smart and passionate she really is when she’s just being herself and not worrying about what people think.
God, please let it be your will that the pain of my disappointment in myself over this situation fades into a hazy memory instead of remaining fresh in my mind.
And God, please let it be your will that if things go the way they did last year that I will be more forgiving of myself than the last time.
Because, God, I don’t think my heart can bear this pain in any more quantity than it’s feeling at this moment.*
*I realize, yes, that she’s only four, and that there will be many, many heartbreaks and many mistakes on my part (or hers) that will be more painful and more difficult than this time. I also know that compared to the losses and pain that many of you may be dealing with or have dealt with, this post may seem trivial. But, I’m living here in this moment… and this is the moment I feel and the reality that I’m living with.
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SciFi Dad Said,
August 31, 2009 @ 7:51 am
Please let this be about N. borrowing shoes…
Please let this be about N. borrowing shoes…
Crap.
That’s what went through my head as I read the opening of your post.
I prefer to look at what you described from an alternative perspective: you had hopes for your daughter, and you put her in a position to realize them. It didn’t work out the way you planned, but you still gave it a shot, even when it was more than you could bear to watch her try. You taught her about perseverance, about not giving up immediately when things are difficult.
At least that’s what I saw.
[Reply]
Faiqa Reply:
August 31st, 2009 at 9:25 am
@SciFi Dad, Thank you.. the logical part of my brain gets that thing about perseverance. The post pregnancy hormonal part is slightly harder to convince.
[Reply]
Finn Reply:
August 31st, 2009 at 10:39 am
@Faiqa, What he said. You were doing what you thought best at the time. It didn’t work out. That’s OK.
[Reply]
Miss Britt Said,
August 31, 2009 @ 8:07 am
First and foremost, that disclaimer is ridiculous. There is no hierarchy of suffering. There is no need to explain or apologize or diminish what you’re feeling because someone has it worse. Knock it off.
Ahem.
Now…
“The more ominous the feeling of failure, the higher my head.”
Me too.
You know, I get parenting failures. I get it. Completely. But the phrase itself suggests that it’s a test with definitive start and end times – and it’s not. It’s a process. It’s a journey. It is, if anything, an essay exam with composite scoring – or something.
And, you know, *I* am amazed that the Japanese teaching school wasn’t EXACTLY the place for her, because it sure seems like it WOULD be.
I’m really proud of the tenderness and compassion you showed by taking her out of that place after 3 weeks.
And lastly…
“how magnificent, funny, voracious, smart and passionate she really is” is certainly a product of some stellar DNA – in part. But it is also a product of some incredible nurturing and loving and tending to.
You did that, my friend.
You did that.
You should be very, very proud of how you’re doing thus far.
[Reply]
Faiqa Reply:
August 31st, 2009 at 9:26 am
@Miss Britt, Oooh, I love it when you tell me to knock it off.
And, thank you so much for what you’ve written here. It made a tremendous difference.
[Reply]
Sybil Law Said,
August 31, 2009 @ 8:54 am
You tried, it didn’t work. Not a big deal, certainly, in the overall realm of “big deals”.
But there’s no measuring stick for pain, and your feelings are as valid and real as anyone’s.
Lesson learned, and maybe it will be helpful in the future when someone’s attempting to make you do this, or that, for N. because you “should”. It’s always best to listen to your own gut instincts, which I know you KNOW, but it’s hard to remember sometimes. I have a pretty sensitive kid, and she cried every day, too, at her latchkey program at school. I tried to make her (and myself) “stick with it”, even though it killed me and I knew I should just pull her out. After 3 weeks, I finally did. I also felt the guilt for putting her through that, but it’s faded. She survived, and I learned my lesson.
You are a wonderful mom. Period.
Best of luck to N. in the new place. (P.S. Pack extra clothes just in case, if they don’t already make you. And you could even give her a necklace as a reward for not crying – a locket type necklace with a picture of the two of you inside. Helps.)
[Reply]
Faiqa Reply:
August 31st, 2009 at 9:27 am
@Sybil Law, I packed the extra clothes… I love the idea of the locket. I’m going to go look for one right now…
[Reply]
Princess of the Universe Said,
August 31, 2009 @ 9:35 am
Not being a parent, I suspect that my two cents holds less weight, however…
You tried something and it didn’t work out. I don’t think it’s any bigger than that. It is by no means a parenting fail.
And you appreciated her feelings about it enough to remove her from the situation. I am willing to wager large sums of money that my parents would have simply made me tough it out. I don’t think either way is right or wrong.
I hope that today goes well for her. And you.
xo
[Reply]
Faiqa Reply:
September 3rd, 2009 at 9:08 am
@Princess of the Universe, I don’t think either way is right or wrong, too. Some parents have no choice, they *have* to go to work, I’m blessed that I had options.
[Reply]
adnan. Said,
August 31, 2009 @ 9:43 am
Wow, this is all.
[Reply]
Faiqa Reply:
September 3rd, 2009 at 9:09 am
@adnan., Brevity is the soul of wit, eh? Given the length of my post, it obviously falls short on wit.
[Reply]
Finn Said,
August 31, 2009 @ 10:45 am
It’s hard. So, so hard to release your baby into the world without you. When Lil’ M was three I had to put him on a BUS every day to go to a preschool 20-odd miles away. It killed me. But you know what? He bloomed. He blossomed.
And N will too. One thing I’ve learned through Lil’ M’s issues is that kids will do things in their own time. Unfortunately you can’t always know when that time will be so you have to try. That’s the major problem with parenting: It’s a trial-and-error process. But I’m willing to bet you’re doing a great job.
xo
[Reply]
Faiqa Reply:
September 3rd, 2009 at 9:10 am
@Finn, SOOO true. N. does everything on her own time, and I’m just learning how much I should push her towards new experiences… it’s a difficult thing to learn. And, I’m not sure I’ll ever truly get the hang of it.
[Reply]
Kate Said,
August 31, 2009 @ 12:26 pm
You are a wonderful mother and person (the kind that can make this childless woman cry with your words). Don’t beat yourself up over this one. And try not to worry so much — either there is a solution to your problem and you can do something about it or there is no solution at all. Either way, your worrying isn’t going to do anything productive. (Yeah, I tell myself that all the time — it definitely helps, but in a shocking twist of events, it doesn’t wholly stop the worrying.)
[Reply]
Faiqa Reply:
September 3rd, 2009 at 9:11 am
@Kate, You’re absolutely right and what you’ve said here, I would say to someone in my position. But, you know, sometimes I start worrying and it’s like a freight train… it’s totally out of my control after a certain point… gotta work on that.
[Reply]
Nanna Said,
August 31, 2009 @ 3:50 pm
Ah my little one there is nothing – NOTHING more malignant than seeing your baby hurt. Honey, you tried a new thing. You MADE her try a new thing when she was afraid. THAT really is your job as a mommy. For her – and you – to know that it’s OK to try new and scary things, and that sometimes they work out and sometimes they don’t and that doesn’t mean you stop trying new, scary things – that’s the stuff of life, the part that builds courage and confidence. A bigger “fail”, for me, is not to try.
Welcome to the wonderful world of womanhood/motherhood where you learn to live with pain and guilt with grace, humility, and laughter. It’s what makes a woman so indescribably beautiful.
Loveing you, Faiqa.
[Reply]
Faiqa Reply:
September 3rd, 2009 at 9:13 am
@Nanna, Thanks, thanks for that. I think these are the things I needed to hear in the months following that from another more experienced mom. What I did hear was, “Well, she stays home with you…” or “don’t worry, some kids are slow starters…” All well intentioned comments, but, well, you know.
[Reply]
hello haha narf Said,
August 31, 2009 @ 3:50 pm
your pain broke my heart…i can only imagine how difficult it was for you to see your precious baby girl so sad. thank you for sharing this story.
do me a favor, though. please don’t ever give some asterisk disclaimer that your pain isn’t as much or as real as someone else’s pain. there will ALWAYS be someone more fortunate and someone less fortunate, there will always be someone struggling with depths of pains that by the grace of god we will never know, but that doesn’t make our feelings any less raw. AND THIS WAS/IS NOT TRIVIAL. this was very real and very important. n is lucky to have a mom like you.
also? i love that tariq put his arm around you and supported you instead of doing what so many men that i know do: telling you to just deal with it. in october when i hug the snot outta that man, you’ll know why.
[Reply]
Faiqa Reply:
September 3rd, 2009 at 9:14 am
@hello haha narf, Tariq was amazing the whole time… even this week, he went twice with us to the new school and peeked in the window a couple of times to make sure she was fine as we left. And she was!
[Reply]
Becky Said,
August 31, 2009 @ 9:30 pm
Oh Faiqa, I understand this pain all too well. It rips into your heart and it sears on your soul for quite a long time. N is loved, and she is blessed to have you and Tariq as her parents. I hope that this new preschool goes wonderfully, for all of you.
[Reply]
Faiqa Reply:
September 3rd, 2009 at 9:16 am
@Becky,Thank you , Becky. So far it has gone incredibly well. She gets slightly teary right after we leave, but doesn’t cry. And the teacher asked me to bring a picture of us so she could look at it when seh missed us which she said worked out beautifully. All in all, this experience has been quite positive.
[Reply]
HoosierGirl Said,
August 31, 2009 @ 9:49 pm
Been there. I used to peek through the windows of Joseph’s preschool to see if he was okay.
Preschool started today at my school – the 3′s and 4′s start 2 weeks after the big kids. They had to carry a chubby 3 yr. old down the hallway sobbing. (shaking head)
I’m sure she’s fine now.
J.
[Reply]
Faiqa Reply:
September 3rd, 2009 at 9:17 am
@HoosierGirl, Hehehe, just got done peeking through the window of N.s preschool a few minutes ago, thanks for not letting me feel like a stalker/helicopter mom.
[Reply]
Poppy Said,
August 31, 2009 @ 9:59 pm
These are YOUR firsts. Doesn’t matter if every other person on the planet already saw their kids off to school, this is your moment personal to you. And yay to you surviving through it.
[Reply]
Faiqa Reply:
September 3rd, 2009 at 9:18 am
@Poppy, Thanks, I have a hard time discussing my personal painful moments because I feel like, you know, there’s a lot of stuff going down in the world and … well, blah, blah, I’m sure you get it. But, yeah, thanks.
[Reply]
Selma Said,
August 31, 2009 @ 10:00 pm
I sat in the car for hours and cried when Nick started pre-school. I did it again this year when he started High School. Seeing his little face walking through those huge school gates almost killed me.
You didn’t fail at all – you gave it a go. Sometimes things don’t work but it is important to give them a try. At least that’s what I keep telling myself. I hope your daughter has a positive and happy experience at her new school, one that allows her to flourish!
[Reply]
Faiqa Reply:
September 3rd, 2009 at 9:21 am
@Selma, She’s having a good time at the new school. This morning they were putting an apron on her so she could make shaving cream sculptures… she’s never gotten to do that at home! She gets a little tearful after we leave, but doesn’t actually cry. The teacher says it only last a minute or two and then she’s fine. So, it is going well. I realized throughout this experience that I really need to toughen up a little bit about all this… there are going to be a zillion heartbreaks and traumas, and she certainly doesn’t need to be wondering if her mom is going to keep it together as she tries to endure through the tribulations of life.
[Reply]
Kimberly Said,
September 1, 2009 @ 12:03 am
You are a GREAT parent to have known she wasn’t ready and removed her for the time being. Every single child is different, and she has her whole life to be pushed through an educational system that doesn’t usually take that into account. Preschool is not about learning facts and figures. It’s about learning how to go to school and play and share and follow rules and get along with others and express through art. She will be a far more successful person (not just academically) to be in her current preschool. Of course, this is coming from a teacher, not a parent.
[Reply]
Faiqa Reply:
September 3rd, 2009 at 9:26 am
@Kimberly, Thanks for calling me a great parent, I really struggled with that decision. Every teacher I have spoken to has been very supportive and said the same things you’ve written here. I’ve realized that the best people to ask about which preschool your child should go to are *teachers* not other parents.
People (myself included in this group several months ago) seem to be somewhat ignorant about what is developmentally appropriate for their children and there is a whole industry that is thriving on that ignorance. I didn’t really discuss that in the post because I didn’t want to come off as lamenting about “sour grapes.” But, truly, she is doing so much better in this new school *because* I think she gets to play a lot and there isn’t added academic pressure to what’s can already be a stressful new experience.
[Reply]
Slyde Said,
September 1, 2009 @ 9:46 am
your school has a webcam?
holy crow do i wish mine did! I have always wanted to watch my son in school, but here they wont even let the parents sit in once in a while.. i’d love a cam.
[Reply]
Faiqa Reply:
September 3rd, 2009 at 9:28 am
@Slyde, The old school had a webcam, new school doesn’t. Trust me, you don’t want to see your kid at school, it can add a whole other level of neurosis to your psyche. Besides, out parents didn’t have webcams and WE turned out FINE… sort of.
[Reply]
tariq Said,
September 1, 2009 @ 12:52 pm
Well, it’s the second day and N. has done beautifully. She has matured a lot since last year. It also helps that this new school has a soul and and is not ‘sterile’ like that other school who name I won’t mention. Ahem**Star Child**Ahem.
I wouldn’t want Nuha to have turned out any different. You’ve done a great job Faiqa. Last year’s experience vs. N’s stellar performance this time in school just goes to prove that N. does things when she is ready and she does them WELL! Just like her Mama! Masha’Allah.
[Reply]
Faiqa Reply:
September 3rd, 2009 at 9:30 am
@tariq, You HAD to say the name, didn’t you? Actually, it’s reflects some of the things I love about you — that undying sense of loyalty to a select few in your life. Not for one moment was it ever my shortcoming or N.’s that she did poorly at that school… it was always the *school’s* fault in your mind. Everyone deserves someone like you on their side… needs someone like you even.
[Reply]
Multi-Tasking Mommy Said,
September 1, 2009 @ 8:42 pm
What a terrifec post. So honest!
I was a Kindergarten teacher and I dealt with many a crying child in my years of teaching, but now that the shoe is on the other foot, I’m nervous as can be.
It’s not your fault. Often, you don’t know what your child will do until they get there.
You pulled her out and that was the right decision for your family and that is what mattered!
I had some kids cry every.single.day for the whole first MONTH of school…so help me if that is my daughter. Although JK is optional, everyone goes to jk here!
[Reply]
Faiqa Reply:
September 3rd, 2009 at 9:34 am
@Multi-Tasking Mommy, I will be sending lots of positive thoughts to your family that Munchkin’ does well… she seems like a very mature and lovely child, I have a feeling she’ll be alright, especially because she has two of the most wonderful parents ever.
[Reply]
Avitable Said,
September 2, 2009 @ 7:32 am
I’m just proud of you for trying again after last year was so hard. I was pretty sure you were going to just resort to homeschooling because it was obvious how much of a hole in your heart it made.
I’ll teach her basic Japanese. Including the dirty words that you won’t know. It’ll be fun!
[Reply]
Faiqa Reply:
September 3rd, 2009 at 9:36 am
@Avitable, Home School? Yeah, I don’t have the patience for that. I’d make those people at the other school look like hippies. I’d be like, “What do you MEAN you can’t find the derivative of that equation, you’re FIVE, are you some kind of idiot?!” As for the Japanese lessons, you’re on… we’re free on Saturday mornings, mark your calendar.
[Reply]
Becca Said,
September 2, 2009 @ 9:24 pm
I can’t believe that you were strong enough to let her try for that long. I don’t consider that a failure, but an attempt to let your daughter find her place, and in the end the good fortune to realize that her place was still with you.
My baby, my heart, my very own sweet fairy started kindergarten this year and I thought I would die. I think parts of it were worse for Chris because she has been with the fairy for two and a half years ever.single.day. But, I still cried like my heart was breaking. It feels like the end of my young adulthood.
Enough about my own issue, I hope she is doing well and enjoying herself. I cried for your pain.
[Reply]
Faiqa Reply:
September 3rd, 2009 at 9:41 am
@Becca, N. is doing fine, she likes her new school so much better. And, yes, I think it was a little worse for me than for Tariq because I had to drop her off and pick her up and that I, too, had been with her every single day up until that point… I hope your fairy adjusted to her school, though? I couldn’t tell from your comment.
[Reply]
Becca Reply:
September 3rd, 2009 at 7:24 pm
@Faiqa, Oh yes, she loves it. I am the only one suffering any seperation anxiety. It’s just that with her asthma I worry sooooo much.
[Reply]
Traci Said,
September 3, 2009 @ 7:58 pm
You are such an amazing mother. Lay off yourself! If my kids had one parent that was half the parent you are, I’d be ecstatic! N. is perfect in every way and you had a little something to do with that.
[Reply]
Elizabeth Kaylene Said,
September 3, 2009 @ 10:16 pm
No apologies — EVERYONE’S problems are big. I can totally understand your worry. I’ve found that sometimes you have to keep trying to find the best fit. I agonized forever about not starting school again right away and about having so many failures, but I look back now and see that it just wasn’t meant to be. So look at it this way: that school was not meant to be. Maybe this one will be, maybe it won’t. The important thing is that you just keep trying. Your kids are very lucky to have such a caring mommy.
[Reply]
Al_Pal Said,
October 20, 2009 @ 7:37 pm
Yeah. Everyone has pain. Just because worse things have and do happen–that doesn’t make your pain any less real.
Glad she is doing better with the new school.
[Reply]