She nodded, but still looked discontented. "What's wrong, honey?" I asked.
And the floodgates opened.
"I don't want to leave Mrs. H!" she cried, then buried her head in my shoulder (which is still damp) and sobbed.
At last, I knew what's been bothering her the last couple of days, and it explained her being ill again last night, in combination with a too-long day on Sunday.
I held her.
She cried.
I prayed out loud for her.
She still cried.
I stroked her arm and held her close and murmured what I hoped were soothing phrases.
My big, almost-seven-year-old girl, who had been so excited about summer and second grade in the fall, was now terrified of leaving first grade and her teacher.
Hubby & Large, Easter 2012 |
I made sure it was okay for her to come in--he's been avoiding snuggles today so he doesn't pass this bug on to the kids--and helped her crawl up on the bed next to him.
He got her talking about what she was so upset about, and proceeded to tell her some of the same stuff I had, about being able to see Mrs. H. in the hallways next year and everything. Coming from Daddy, it was apparently more believable.
She was almost asleep, curled up against his side, when I sang the first verse of "Goodnight, Junior" for her, which has been something of a tradition now at bedtime for the last several weeks.
My poor little big girl. The end of first grade is rough.
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