About a month ago I took my youngest son, five years and a half, to register him to school. Come September this little child, with his wide round eyes and soft, long, golden curls, will enter the school gates for the first time as a student.

The boy, very happy and confident about it, is looking forward to it. As for his mother, that’s me, well… that’s a totally different story.
I am trying to recreate the first grade experience I went through with my two eldest children. Both seem to have survived the first grades pretty well. But nothing helps. This one is my eternal baby.

Last year this smart kid said he didn’t want to “move up to the older group” of the nursery school. “Why should I?”, he asked me, “They are facing too many demands and assignments. I prefer to stay with the younger children and play most of the time”. I was the happiest proudest mom when I heard that. “If he isn’t ready for school”, I said to his nursery teacher, “I will be more than glad to let him play for another year. That’s a passing opportunity”. Of course the nursery teacher was surprised. She then said OK, but knew better. Shortly after the beginning of this year it was clear that Yonatan is ready for school.
That doesn’t mean that his mother is ready for him going to school. I cannot imagine him spending 5 hours a day in a classroom without games and toys. It’s hard to think of him going out to play in that horrible, dry, concrete yard. It is impossible to picture him with a school bag on his back, let alone a full school bag. It seems to me that walking him to school and back won’t be enough. Does thinking it make me that nagging, over protective, ridiculed mother?

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