Mud & Mayhem

Does this crush anybody else or is it just me?

We just wrapped up a long weekend at the cabin. Genuinely wonderful — the good kind of tired, full of sun and sand and all the things that make summer feel like it’s doing its job. Both boys slept well last night. Both woke up in good moods. We had a smooth morning. Everything pointed to a clean drop-off.

My youngest walked in like a champ. Barely looked back.

My oldest did not.

He refused to go into the classroom. I carried him in — because four year olds are still small enough to carry and sometimes that’s the move — and from the moment we crossed the threshold he was on me like superglue. Arms around my neck. Fingers twisted into my hair, my shirt, anything he could get a grip on. Every fiber of that child was communicating do not leave.

And this is a kid who loves school. Who loves his teacher. Who was, genuinely, looking forward to going back this morning. And yet.

I did the things. I got down to his level. I did the Daniel Tiger script — grown-ups come back, mommies and daddies always come back — and he looked at me with absolutely no interest in that information. I gave him the biggest hug I could give while also being pried off a four year old in a daycare hallway at 8am. He grabbed harder.

Eventually I handed him off. I walked out. And I know — I know — that he was completely fine three minutes later. The teachers have told me. I’ve seen the pickup energy, which is always completely normal and sometimes even annoyed that I’ve interrupted his day.

But that doesn’t stop the feeling that follows me for the rest of the morning. That low-level guilt that parks itself somewhere in your chest and just sits there. I left him. I know why I left him. I know it’s right and healthy and normal and good for him. And it still feels terrible.

The transition from a long weekend or a vacation back into the school routine is its own specific kind of hard. The kids have had four days of parents, cabin, cousins, sand, and zero schedule. And then Monday comes and the world snaps back and we ask them to just be fine with that.

They are not always fine with that.

So I’m asking genuinely — what works? What do you do to make the re-entry a little softer? Is there a ritual or a routine or something you say in the car on the way there that helps ease the transition? Because I would like to collect some tools before next Monday rolls around.

And if you’ve also sat in your car in a parking lot for an extra five minutes after a hard drop-off just to collect yourself before driving to work — no judgment. None at all. I see you completely.

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Hard drop-off veterans — what are your pro tips? Drop them in the comments. We need them.