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Moments with Mum

Regular columnist Elisabeth Corcoran on the day her daughter started school

So Sara and I are walking to school for the very first time, and we’re holding hands and talking, and I ask her how she's feeling.

"Well," she says, "I’m a little bit happy and a little bit excited."

And I’m about to throw up, I think to myself. We walk across the playground and stand in line with her 17 classmates and their 34 parents, who all seem to be having the first day jitters like I am.

And just when I think I have the one child on the face of the earth who is not nervous, Sara leans in, rests her head against me, and wraps her arms around my legs. I kneel down and say softly: "Would you like me to pray for you?"

And she quietly asks: "Why?" And I say: "To make sure that you feel better," to which she replies: "OK."

So I take her hands in mine, thinking how I'm about to have one of those teaching moments that all the books tell you to watch for and grab, all the while trying to burn this precious memory onto my brain, and I say: "Okay, let’s pray."

And my sweet, spiritually-mature Sara says: "Pray? I thought you said pay. Never mind." So, talking with the Creator of the universe won't help you right now, but two bucks would ease your mind? Memory officially burned on my brain, thank you very much.

You know, other than that delightful moment, nothing earth-shattering has happened with my daughter's entrance into reception class. She's used to it already. It's just a part of her life now.

Me on the other hand … well, I can't seem to quite get a grasp of this new reality. There are the practicals, for sure. I'm now expected to get up at a certain early time every day, whereas up to this point, I've pretty much been the setter of my own schedule.

And there's the fact that I can't wear my pyjamas for days in a row – I kind of have to look somewhat presentable every day; as do my children - I used to revel in seeing how long they'd let me keep them in bedclothes.

But the biggest adjustment has been the quietest one … the one stirring in my heart. The one that is desperately trying to hold onto the sweet little life that the three of us created in the womb of our home, sometimes not needing to leave for days at a time, with no-one but us establishing the pace.

And the part, of course, where I am reminded with each walk to school that she is a little less mine now. That I cannot protect her when she's there. That for two hours and 23 minutes a day, I have no idea really what is going on in her life.

Each day I walk her to school, I am walking a walk of letting go. And I fear that I will not get used to this feeling anytime soon.

And maybe, just maybe, that’s okay.

Because I can almost make out the faintest of Images standing next to her on the playground as I turn to leave. And I know the Someone who takes her hand and walks her through the school doors when I am walking back home.

And I know the One who sits next to her when her new little friend won't share. And I am trusting in the Person who loves her more intimately than I do.

So yes, maybe, it’s all going to be okay.

Elisabeth K Corcoran is the author of Calm in My Chaos: Encouragement for a Mom’s Weary Soul (2001), which can be purchased directly through her publisher, Kregel Publications at www.kregel.com, or also online at amazon.com, chrbook.com or familychristian.com, or through your local Christian bookstore. This column is original and not excerpted from her book.

© Christian Family Network
is run by CPO, supported by
Care for the Family, Marriage Resource, Positive Parenting,
Care, Women Alive, Christian Herald and many others.


		Moments with Mum Regular columnist Elisabeth Corcoran on the day her daughter started school So Sara and I are walking to school for the very first time, and we’re holding hands and talking, and I ask her how she's feeling. "Well," she says, "I’m a little bit happy and a little bit excited." And I’m about to throw up, I think to myself. We walk across the playground and stand in line with her 17 classmates and their 34 parents, who all seem to be having the first day jitters like I am. And just when I think I have the one child on the face of the earth who is not nervous, Sara leans in, rests her head against me, and wraps her arms around my legs. I kneel down and say softly: "Would you like me to pray for you?" And she quietly asks: "Why?" And I say: "To make sure that you feel better," to which she replies: "OK." So I take her hands in mine, thinking how I'm about to have one of those teaching moments that all the books tell you to watch for and grab, all the while trying to burn this precious memory onto my brain, and I say: "Okay, let’s pray." And my sweet, spiritually-mature Sara says: "Pray? I thought you said pay. Never mind." So, talking with the Creator of the universe won't help you right now, but two bucks would ease your mind? Memory officially burned on my brain, thank you very much. You know, other than that delightful moment, nothing earth-shattering has happened with my daughter's entrance into reception class. She's used to it already. It's just a part of her life now. Me on the other hand … well, I can't seem to quite get a grasp of this new reality. There are the practicals, for sure. I'm now expected to get up at a certain early time every day, whereas up to this point, I've pretty much been the setter of my own schedule. And there's the fact that I can't wear my pyjamas for days in a row – I kind of have to look somewhat presentable every day; as do my children - I used to revel in seeing how long they'd let me keep them in bedclothes. But the biggest adjustment has been the quietest one … the one stirring in my heart. The one that is desperately trying to hold onto the sweet little life that the three of us created in the womb of our home, sometimes not needing to leave for days at a time, with no-one but us establishing the pace. And the part, of course, where I am reminded with each walk to school that she is a little less mine now. That I cannot protect her when she's there. That for two hours and 23 minutes a day, I have no idea really what is going on in her life. Each day I walk her to school, I am walking a walk of letting go. And I fear that I will not get used to this feeling anytime soon. And maybe, just maybe, that’s okay. Because I can almost make out the faintest of Images standing next to her on the playground as I turn to leave. And I know the Someone who takes her hand and walks her through the school doors when I am walking back home. And I know the One who sits next to her when her new little friend won't share. And I am trusting in the Person who loves her more intimately than I do. So yes, maybe, it’s all going to be okay. Elisabeth K Corcoran is the author of Calm in My Chaos: Encouragement for a Mom’s Weary Soul (2001), which can be purchased directly through her publisher, Kregel Publications at www.kregel.com, or also online at amazon.com, chrbook.com or familychristian.com, or through your local Christian bookstore. This column is original and not excerpted from her book. © Christian Family Network is run by CPO, supported by Care for the Family, Marriage Resource, Positive Parenting, Care, Women Alive, Christian Herald and many others.