Graduation Day, Part I

“Keep in mind that neither success nor failure is ever final.”  - Roger Babson, American Business Forecaster and Author, 1875-1967

Both preschool graduations are now under our belts (#1 from her "typical" private preschool on Friday afternoon, #2, from her self-contained public school class Monday morning).  Most of you know by now, however, that Friday did not go well.  At all.  (I'll write about Monday's graduation in another day or so.)  And thank you so very, very much to my amazing Facebook friends who listened patiently to me whining about it and offered up so much sage advice and support. 

Still trying to figure it all out.  One person mentioned social anxiety and the hesitation in the face of having to perform in some way or another.  I'm thinking that may be closest to the mark, as it seems to apply to multiple situations.  Sure, she still has an aversion to certain loud noises, but I've found that putting my hands over her ears satisfies her some.  I may look into some ear plugs for those occasions, to keep in my pocket just in case.

Anyway, let's just say she never went up to perform with her class, instead clinging to me in the audience, crying that she wanted to go home.  I managed to convince her to stay until the end, to have dinner with her classmates and have a little unwind time. 

Anyone remember this classic hand-over-the-face look from another recent post?

Misery.

There's nothing quite like a quiet, empty room for a bit of regrouping and a few quick shots with her cap.

Starting to feel better.

For anyone who may not know it already, hot dogs (even cold ones) have magical restorative qualities, much like cupcakes. 

So do hugs from favorite teachers.

Miss K., her teacher, put together a beautiful slideshow video of the children in the class, comprised of shots taken throughout the shool year.  It was shown to the group after the children's presentation.  While I know there were very few dry eyes from the parents who watched it, I brought my copy home and put it on for Samantha and me to watch, and I blubbered like a baby.  Samantha, in all her empathic glory, gently wiped my tears with her pinky (emulating the way Daddy wipes hers) and said, "It's okay, Mommy.  Don't be sad, be happy!"  And dutifully brought me a tissue from the bathroom.  I explained that sometimes people cry when they're happy, although this felt like a blatant half-truth as the words came out of my mouth.