Around the Corner
Back in Kindergarten, when Tate would spot me from the bench they sat on at the end of the day, she’d pop up and come running full-speed straight into my arms, squealing “Mommmmmmmy”, artwork that she’d been holding tightly in her fists flying out of her hands onto the ground. Those were the days.
After a long squeeze, Tate would dive right in, telling me about her day and her work and her friends. We’d walk off hand in hand, sometimes her in my arms, chattering, relieved and excited.
*
Fast forward to spring of fourth grade. We’ve been home almost a year together because of COVID so the adjustment back to being apart all day every day was necessary and healthy, but made me appreciate even more seeing her at three o'clock. Both of us, really. We’d talk about it at night. How that extra time together as a family was such a gift and though she was absolutely thrilled to be back in school with friends, how she missed me.
She comes out of her classroom door, long limbs tired but stretching her forward evenly, stringy hair trailing out from underneath her beanie. Swinging her heavy backpack over her shoulder.
She gives me a silent nod of acknowledgment.
What? What’s that?
I come closer, excited to reconnect, and she mumbles, “Let’s go, Mom …”
Wrapping an arm around her as we walk on, she pulls her shoulder away. Ouch.
It’s an awkward feeling. I feel rejected and embarrassed and sad and confused, all at once. And still, so much love. Empathy. Denial - how can such a sweet heart be shutting me down like this?
Some days she comes out and brightens at my smile, and almost forgets herself and hugs me but then stops herself short. “Let’s go, Mom …”
After a couple of weeks of this odd dance, I bring it up at home.
“So, I feel sort of awkward at pickup these days because I’m so excited to see you, especially after you’ve been at dad's house for a couple nights, and I know you’re excited to see me too but it really hurts when you pull away from my hug…”
“I know, Mom. It’s just you can’t hug me anymore in front of my whole class.”
My throat tightens.
“Ohhh, okay. Not cool to hug anymore?” I hear the slight bitterness in my voice.
“No, it’s just not in front of everyone, Mom.”
“Okay, well, it’s embarrassing and hurts when you pull away harshly. I’ll try to remember not to, but it’s hard for me so if I forget, I’d like for you to please remind me in another way, babe. Just don’t do the super dramatic pull away, please.”
“Okay, I get it. I’ll work on that.”
“Thanks. So when can I hug you, babe? Do I have to wait until we’re home because I don’t think I can do that,” I giggle as I know I’ve got her listening compassionately now.
“Hmmmm, okay Mom, so how about once we round the corner, and get over by the Kindergarten classrooms, out of sight of my classroom? Just wait until we get around that corner. Okay? Promise?”
Memories of Kinder rush through. Her racing into my arms. How fast time moves.
I basically bee-line it to the corner now, so I can wrap her up. My forever baby. Growing up.
