Clutch

Dylan has gotten to the point that he wants to be outside ALL the time. He loves it. Freedom I suppose. Options maybe? Maybe he just loves it. So, he is also getting really good and climbing up and down stairs. We come down on his belly, backwards. It helps him resist the Superman option. [...which he exercised solo late last week...he decided to try and climb the steps by himself but either slipped or changed his mind. As I mentioned, he is just learning so flying solo resulted in a big goose egg on his forehead.]

So, we climb down the basement steps from the kitchen in the morning which he willingly gets down, turns around, crawls backward and makes his way down. We get down to the basement and he immediately searches out his shoes. He sits down and waits patiently for his shoes. Minimal wiggling...not kidding. Yup, not even 15 months...

So, we grab a coat if necessary, zip up and then Dylan tries to push open the basement door. Pull buddy. With the door open...he trucks out into the driveway and looks to get into the car. This is a daycare day and he sees his siblings climbing in too. He happily gets his seat belt on jabbering the whole time.

So, we drive to school, less than 3 miles, only a few minutes. He listens to Gavin and Nora in the back. Questions, answers, singing, who knows. Almost always, Dylan is pretty quiet. Looking around, out the window, smiling back at Mommy when I look over my shoulder at the red light. We arrive. Gavin and Nora get out first. They go around and open Dylan's door. He laughs like this is a version of peek-a-boo. He wiggles trying to get out of his seat belt, nearly too early and actually delaying the unbuckle process.

I carry him to the door. He sit on his spot on my hip [The spot was developed by Gavin and perfected by Nora - left side, up high and sore right butt.], arm wrapped over my shoulder and hand holding on in the back. His legs gently grip for balance as I swing him and tip him over grabbing bags and herding the big kids into school out of the parking lot (someone once said difficult situations can be like herding cats...I think that should be my official title; Cat Herder).

Gavin flies up the stairs and Nora has her one pace in life. Dylan is looking for Gavin and watching other kids, parents coming and going. We make the trip up the stairs to daycare [about 30 steps with a nearly 30 lb kid that can't walk up the steps yet - the tread height is about the same as his inseam]. We make our way upstairs. [Did I mention at the beginning that I am intentionally not recounting the Gavin and Nora drama of this entire process?] Gavin and Nora scatter to their cubbies to hang jackets and are off running to the "pink room" for school. So, this is when I notice a tighter grip with his hand wrapped around the back of my arm. I take a few more steps away from the "pink room", waving to Nora and Gavin - they don't really notice. Dylan waved once this week.

As I turn for Dylan's room behind me, little legs clutch my waist and fingers grasps my shirt and arm. A second hand appears on the collar of my shirt in the front, holding on. As I open the door to the Toddler Room, I say good morning to the occupants, teachers and children lined up in highchairs. At this point there is a tight grip all around and when Ms. Michelle says, "Good morning Dylan", its over. Dylan buries his head in my neck and every ounce of him is clutching on to me. I squeeze him for a hug in return, kiss him behind the ear because I can't find his face, tell him I love him and begin to peel him off of me. [The stories or memories actually are similar for Gavin and Nora, especially at this age and during this transition to Toddler School but my reactions were very different.] I quickly peel the rest of Dylan off of me and hand him to Ms. Michelle. His crying escalates to screaming instantly. He is red faced with tears streaming as I kiss his cheek and tell him that I will see him later..."Have a good day." I turn and walk quickly out the room. A short, piercing scream is followed by a gasp of breath. I only hear silence as I seat the door in the door jam and then I hear the sobbing begin after he starts to breath again. I force myself to walk away and ensure being nowhere near the window. My soul aches, my heart is broken, a tear slides down my cheek. I reach the door to the stairwell and can barely will myself to push the door open. Some days this is where I pause, other days I make it to the outer door until I physically pause. Most days I can reach the car and put on my seat belt and sit there for a minute before moving to the next phase of my day. I suppose that all of this is better than standing in the stairwell balling or crying hard all the way to work.

They say that he "recovers quickly". They say he " is doing very well" in his new room. They say he likes his new (some old) friends and is getting use to his new teachers (2 of 4). That is all I have, words of trusted teachers. Teachers we know and believe. I also know he won't do this forever. I know he will be like Gav and Nora and stop even saying goodbye. In the meantime, we are doing the clutch!