They're so little.

Kindergarten started this week.

I love the smalls, they're so cute and everything is new to them.

It's hysterical to watch them enjoy the mundane things like automatic paper towel dispensers and sinks that turn on when you put your hand in front of the little sprayer. They get so excited about stuff like that.

They're enthusiastic about snacks and LEGO and cars and coloring pages. They can't wait to get outside and climb on the big structure and kick a playground ball wildly in all directions.

But it's a really long day for some of them, and they're dragging when they get to me at the end of it.

I had my first batch of K kids yesterday afternoon. They do a gradual entry, I'm not sure how it works, but by the end of this week, all the kids who are attending K will be in school from 8 to 2:15 and I will have met all the ones registered in my program.

Yesterday I met Tommy. He's small and blonde. Longish hair. Slender and pale.  A voice that's barely audible. I know he talks with more volume now, but that voice was so tiny when we met.

Tommy's teacher brought him down to the cafeteria about 2:30. School is out at 2:10, but she takes her students to the bus area, the pick up area and then brings the last couple to me.

I got him checked in, showed him where to put his backpack, gave him a bracelet (we put amusement park style bracelets on the kids every day so they're distinguishable from general public kids on the playground or whatever in case there's an emergency situation) and told him that after he washed his hands, he could play with any of the toys he was interested in until snack time.

He stood awkwardly about four feet from me, looking around with a bewildered expression. It was loud and chaotic, kids were going to the gym to be dismissed to buses, others were walking through in the open hallway just outside the pillars that delineate our area.

He moved closer to me every 30 seconds or so until he was just barely touching my arm while I sat in my chair making sure I had the paperwork done and that everyone was accounted for.

I said, "What's up, Bud? Do you need something?"

I looked in his small face.
His eyes were full of unshed tears.
I could see the effort he was making not to cry.

In a tiny voice, he said, "Can I please have my mom?"

I told him, "If you want to sit here by me, I will call your mom as soon as I get all the kids signed in and ask her how long it will be until she gets here."

He perched on the bench, little leg touching mine.
He was working so hard to hold the tears back.

::sigh::

While I was supervising all the kids at the sinks washing their hands, I called his mom.

When I call a parent, I immediately identify myself and tell them first, "This is not an emergency." I don't want to give anyone unnecessary fear. As a parent myself, I know I would appreciate that approach.

So I told her that Tommy was asking how long until she was going to pick him up and that I had promised him that I'd check with her.

She told me what time she gets off work, then said, "He seems to do better if I can talk to him. Is it okay if I speak to him?"

"You can talk to him any time you want to, just call. And unless you tell me otherwise, if he asks to call you, I will dial your number and hand him the phone."

"OH thank you!" she told me. "His day care wouldn't allow him to talk to me while he was there!"

What??? Seriously?
I didn't comment, but how mean to not allow contact between a parent and child as needed. A childcare provider shouldn't be a gate keeper.

His mom was working and could not come to get him until 5:30 yesterday. He was so happy to see her. There were hugs and more hugs and he said, "I missed you so much, Mommy!"

Sweet. And I was happy to see them reconnect.

Tommy seemed to feel a little better today. He knows where his backpack goes after school, he knows that we have a snack, where to wash his hands, where the drinking fountain is and which toys he likes so far.

I know it's helpful for a little person to not have to worry about where things are and what's next. A little predictability is good, although we never etch our after school routine in stone. Lots of flexibility and a bunch of choices.

He's adorable and sweet and small.
He was trying so hard to be brave and not cry.

The thing he really wanted yesterday was a thing I could not give to him.

I love the little people, but no matter how much I care, I am not his mom.