Back to School

How do I look?” asked my youngest this morning, running from her room.

She was dressed in a Minnie Mouse t-shirt, flowered jeggings and the biggest smile I’d seen in weeks.

This morning was her first day back at school since mid-December following a 10-day closure for a COVID case and she couldn’t wait to get there.

And so despite the freezing cold temperatures (and numerous brand-new winter-appropriate outfits in her drawer), I told her she looked beautiful. Then I grabbed a sweatshirt from her shelf and tucked it under my arm for later.

As I did, my girl retreated to the bathroom. My husband found her there, trying to do her own hair.

“Does my hair look nice, Daddy?” she asked.

“It looks perfect,” he said, helping her secure her ponytail.

Then she came down and had breakfast, spilling some oatmeal on her jeggings as she did.

For a moment, her lips wavered. “I’m sorry I’m not good at eating oatmeal. Do I have to change now?” she asked.

My husband wiped it off. “Nope, we can clean that right off!” he said.

Her smile returned.

After breakfast, she ran to the mudroom, singing as we located her hat and gloves. Then she double-checked her school bag, confirming that Mommy had packed her snack and water.

“Is it time to go yet?” she asked.

“Soon,” I said. “It’s cold today so I thought we’d drive. That means we can leave a little later.”

“But it’s not a long walk,” she said. “And if we walk we can go now! Can we walk, Mom? Please?”

I checked the temperature. 30 degrees. “All right,” I said. Then I helped her with her gloves.

And together we sang and laughed as we walked to school. My daughter in her t-shirt and oatmeal pants, strands of hair already escaping from her ponytail.

But none of it mattered. She was happy. She going to school.

To a teacher she loves. To classmates she adores. To activities she looks forward to.

To a classroom she has missed.

At her door, I gave a final wave and watched her bound inside. And even though it was a happy moment, inside my heart ached. For all the days she had missed. For the disappointment she’s learned to just accept. For the world I remember, that she has never gotten to know.