The decision to send Fletcher back to school in-person was one filled with agony, uncertainty and hypotheticals.  Some weeks, it changed by the minute.  We were anything but certain.  Is it worth the risk?  Do we really even know how high the risk is?  Is it worth it for 33 instructional days?  Can we hang on and finish out the year virtually?  He needs to be with his friends.  Wait.  What will that even look like?  Will he even be able to play with his friends?  Ugh, what will this look like?  Can he tolerate a mask all day?    

Like so many other families, we have been together for over a year with few moments of separation.  It was the hardest year for all of us.  But the time together oddly felt like a gift.  And while most things felt out of our control, we felt a little security with having the great fortune of being able to keep our boys at home.  There’s comfort in knowing your babies are safe.

In my gut, I know that Fletcher needs this, and quite frankly so does Max.  He has taken a backseat to Fletcher’s needs on many occasions this year and will greatly benefit from more one-on-one time.   We ultimately decided that while Fletcher has come a long way this year, virtual learning just isn’t ideal for him.  It’s okay in a pinch, but it’s more about surviving than thriving.  And after thirteen months, we want him….need him… to thrive.

So here we are.  One more sleep until Fletcher returns to in-person school.  That means our house was LOADED with BIG feelings today (myself included).  We were a tornado of anticipation, nervousness, trepidation, anxiety, excitement, fear, and perhaps even a little hope.   

Early in the day, we gathered his school supplies, dug out his backpack, updated his morning visual schedule, got his rollerball of calming essential oils ready (this has been one of his favorite strategies since he was little), and navigated a rollercoaster of emotions.

During the height of one of our least graceful moments I finally said “If we’re having a hard day because you’re nervous about going back to in-person school tomorrow, I need you to know that I’m nervous, too.”

The flood gates flew open and Fletcher began to sob.

I gave him the tightest hug.  He melted right into my arms and all I could see was my sweet little boy who was struggling.  In that moment the frustration from an intense morning completely disappeared.  It was then that I was able to calmly say, “Buddy, this is something we can work through together.  You don’t have to do that on your own.”

He articulated that his tummy felt just like it had the day he started K-4 which told me that he was simultaneously excited and nervous and didn’t know where to go with all of that.

Together, we created a plan for the rest of the day.  We’d do a practice run of walking our normal route to school, remind ourselves of which door he’ll enter in the mornings and play on the familiar school playground.  It’s not lost on me how fortunate we are to live within walking distance of Fletcher’s school.  

After lunch we put on our shoes, strapped Max into the stroller, packed a few snacks and I reminded Fletcher to bring his coat.  “I’m fine, Mom,” he reassured me.  “I’m wearing 3 pairs of pants.”  (This is noteworthy because Fletcher dressed himself today and on a normal day it might be odd to wear 3 pairs of pants.  Today, however, it made complete sense.  I really believe he was trying to find ways to get himself the extra input he craved as he navigated the anticipation and anxiety of heading back to in-person school tomorrow.  He chose tighter fitting jogger-type pajama pants for his bottom two layers.  That offered him some extra pressure on his legs.  Brilliant.  We certainly have challenging moments, but this kid is one of my greatest teachers.)

I put two full packages of baby wipes in the bottom of his backpack for our practice walk which provided some extra resistance – or heavy work in OT terms.  One mile round trip with that kind of resistance was really helpful in regulating him.  

Serendipitously, our usual crossing guard happened to be at his typical post.  The familiarity of our pre-Covid interactions with him helped both of us settle into our trek.  Fletcher even capitalized on an opportunity to remind Mr. Wayne that he should really use his whistle while crossing people (us).  Thank goodness for levity.

While at school, we took a photo of Fletcher standing in front of the entrance he will use and later added that to his visual schedule.  He walked around the playground a bit, giving me a tour of all of the designated areas.  And then we found our way to the playground.  We were the only ones there and that felt like the greatest gift.  I didn’t have to worry about masks being up or the kids taking turns with others, Max getting plowed over by bigger kids, or keeping a schedule.  I could just be in the moment and for for the first time in a long time, I genuinely played.  We did monkey bars (let me tell you, I am not made for monkey bars!), slides, hide-and-seek, tag, climbing and we breathed in cool, fresh air.  When we were ready to venture home, magically, we were all relaxed, calm and regulated and suddenly, the big transition back to in-person school didn’t feel quite so daunting.

We finished out our day with OT and on our drive home just before dinner the heavy clouds were painted with giant brushstrokes across the sky – indicative of the dreary weather forecasted for the remainder of the week. In one distinctive spot, however,  brightly defined beams of light had permeated the clouds and were illuminating the earth below.  At a stoplight I found myself inhaling the deepest breath and slowly, steadily exhaling.  In darkness there is always light and in light there are signs of hope.  This was my sign.  Everything is going to be alright.