The tiny girl, whose fingers were wrapped tightly around hers, gave her head a shake, causing her curls to bounce, "I don't want to go." She signed, sticking her lower lip out and stopping to look up at her mother.
Sara stopped walking too, just a few feet from the kindergarten room door. Turning around, she kneeled down until she found herself at eyelevel with her daughter. Her eyes swept over a brand new pair of black Mary Janes, white socks, up to a red and navy blue dress with a pattern of apples and books decorating it. Reaching up, Sara fixed a red ribbon that she had tied that morning around a curly pigtail, and then adjusted the little girl's bangs. "What are you worried about?"
"My tummy hurts," Emma pouted further, looking nervously towards the door down the hall.
Sara followed her daughter's sightline, "Wow, isn't that nice? Can you read that?" She asked Emma, nodding towards the large paper that had been taped to the door.
Emma shook her head, slowly, "Apples?" She guessed, looking at the stickers that had been stuck to the paper around a message that could only be teacher's neat writing.
"That's a good guess," Sara praised the four-year-old. "It says 'Welcome New Students to Mrs. Russell's Class'." Sara read and translated into ASL for her daughter. "Doesn't it sound like a nice teacher? That would write and post a nice note like that."
"Yes," Emma agreed, looking at the note again then back to her mother. "But I don't want to go."
"You have been going to school since you were a little baby," Sara reminded her, reaching over to help her daughter slide her butterfly backpack off her shoulders. "This is the same, right?"
"No," the almost kindergartener shook her head, "Because you aren't staying with me today."
"That's true. But I'll be back before lunch time," Sara assured her.
"How long will that be?" Emma asked, taking Sara's hand and turning it over to peer at the face of the watch that she couldn't derive meaning from yet.
Turning her hand over, Sara undid the clasp and then placed the watch around the loop on Emma's dress before moving it so that both of them to could see its face. She pointed to the small hand then the 11, and then waited for Emma to look at her. "That means 11 o'clock," she explained. "And that means 20, so at 11:20 in the morning, I will come back to pick you up."
"But how long is that?" Emma asked, looking at the watch again.
Sara smiled; looking at the little girl's knitted brows. She loved curiosity that would creep across her face; it reminded her so much of her husband when he found himself intrigued by a case or an insect, and most often now a days, by something his children were doing. "It will be in three hours. But, you know, in school, they will teach you how to understand clocks and time. Did you know that?" Sara asked, appealing to her daughter's love for learning and knowledge.
"They will?" Emma asked, sliding her hand into her mom's. "What else will they teach me?" She asked, signing one-handed.
Sara got to her feet and began walking Emma towards the door again, "Well, they will teach you about Reading, and Drawing, and Writing, and making friends."
"My name!" Emma exclaimed, pointing to a hook that had a name plate taped above it. Excitedly, the little girl pushed her coat off and hung it up on the hook, then took her backpack from her mom's hands and placed it there too. Turning around, she found her mother kneeling behind her. "I love you," Emma told her, then gave her a hug and a kiss.
Sara watched her daughter push her shoulders back, doing her best to be brave, then turn on her heel and march towards the door. Pushing herself back to her feet, Sara folded her arms and swallowed. At the door, Emma paused for a moment to look down at the watch attached to her dress. Assured that it was still there, she lifted her chin again and stepped into the room.
Try as she might, Sara couldn't stop the lump forming in her throat or the single tear that slipped down her cheek. Wiping it away, she swallowed hard and ran her fingers through her hair to push it back off her face. Suddenly, she felt arms move around her waist from behind, pulling her back into the familiar shape of her husband's chest. Sara closed her eyes and leaned back into him, breathing in the familiar scent of his soap and spearmint toothpaste. "You're supposed to be at work," she whispered.
"I wanted to come see her off, looks like I just missed her," he pressed a kiss to her shoulder. "Miss her already, huh?"
Sara nodded, another tear spilling down her cheek.
"Me too, honey," he soothed, giving her another quick squeeze before pulling back and turning her around to face him. "I relieved Catherine from babysitting duty. Let's go get a coffee for a couple of hours, and then we'll pick Emma up and go out for lunch to celebrate her first day of big girl school."
Sara placed her hand on the stroller where their one-year-old son was sleeping soundly, his thumb plugged into his little pink mouth. Leaning forward, she brushed sandy blonde curls off his forehead and smiled. "Okay… I might need a new watch too," Sara informed her husband and headed toward the main door for the Deaf school.