Day Two

I fear history is repeating itself. When Devlin started junior kindergarten (back when it was half days, but in reality 3 hours), he cried every day I dropped him off. For two and half months. The teachers placed a special "crying" chair for him in the hallway so he could have his tears without disrupting the class.
Quinn did not want to re-attend school this morning.
When I picked him up yesterday, he was eager to leave. He insisted on bringing his indoor shoes and extra clothes home with him, probably figuring he had tried this school gig and was so over it.
The teachers indicated that after he had his massive meltdown - where he grabbed his backpack and was ready to leave - he ended up having a good day. Though there was the off-hand comment about his stubbornness.
This morning, when I woke him up and stated "you have to get ready for school!", Quinn responded with a "I hate school" and burrowed under the pillows.
Eventually the promise of a sugary breakfast cereal coaxed him out of bed.
The bargaining of 10 minutes of television got him into his clothes for the day. Daddy tried to get him excited by letting him pick out what would go into his lunch. (He ate every crumb yesterday!)
He refused to wear his backpack so Mommy got that job.
His older brother Devlin challenged him to a series of races that got the entire crew to school in record time.
Quinn seemed to be resigned to going to school this morning. Until we got to the gate. He saw another little boy in tears, and put the brakes on. His backpack was unceremoniously dumped on the ground and off he went in the other direction. Good thing I was outfitted for a run this morning. I got my warm up in my chasing him across the playground and dragged him back. While I tried to put his backpack onto his tiny shoulders, he took off again. This time, I carried him back, and dropped him inside he gated area.
For some reason, the gate attendant wouldn't close the gate so the little rascal got away again. For the third time, I chased him and handed him off to the teacher, and without a backward glance, I walked away quickly.
Do I sound cold hearted? It's my fourth child, and I've been down this road before. My loitering around the gate would have prolonged this torture and provided false hope to Quinn that I would give in and bring him home.
But I peeked from around the corner, hidden by the building. The music blaring from my earphones drowned out his cries as I watched him stomping his feet and attempting to move around the teacher and to freedom. The teacher was doing quite the jig to block his way. Really? Close the gate!
Then he gave up, and faced the wall and cried and cried. No amount of words would make him turn around. Finally, I watched the teacher just haul up his little body and carry him in.
I am NOT looking forward to tomorrow's drop off.