Happiness is a Choice

First day of school.  Shiny new backpacks (check), nutritious packed lunch (check), perfectly selected outfits (check), and a positive outlook for the year to come.  And then we made it to school.  DD #1 immediately was lost to me in the crowd--she's entitled, she is 13 after all.  DD#2 stayed a little closer as class assignment chaos began.  

Let me just say, and I am wandering a little bit here, that having teachers come out and read their class lists aloud on the school yard is just shy of crazy.  In what world do they imagine that 500+ nervous and excited kids will remain quiet so they can hear their name called?  And what if you don't know what the teacher looks like?  How do you know where to stand to hear the news?  Ah well, I digress.  Let's just say it was madness.

As I was saying...DD#2 did not hear her name called and by the time we figured out what class she was in they were already in their classroom.  So in we went.  We stopped at the door to check out the situation.  Split class (okay, no problem there), good teacher (yay!), only two girls from her grade in the class (not so hot), both girls are girls who are historically not so kind to my child (oh no).  Then the tears came.  After a few minutes she was calm enough to go inside and join her class.  I had a few quick words with the teacher, who was sympathetic and understanding.  As I went to leave, DD was nowhere to be seen but when a little effort was made, could be seen crying in the cloak room at the back of the class.  Heartbreak.  Complete heartbreak for her and for me.  I won't even begin to go in to detail as to how difficult it was to leave her there, in a place where she so clearly felt uncomfortable.  But leave I did.  That's the thing about a job where you don't work in the summer....you must report for work on the first day of school with no exceptions.

It was a long day of worrying, venting to my colleagues (sorry about that if any of you stop in to read this), and talking to the school LST.  I wondered what sort of mess there'd be to mop up at the end of the day.  How could I be positive for my clearly unhappy child?  

3:30 came, as it always does, and I was anxious.  What child would walk through those doors?  Sullen.  Tearful?  Rebellious at the injustice of it all?  I was prepared for anger, for sadness but unprepared and startled by the happy, bouncy girl that came out of the door.  She had had time to reflect on things and decided that she could "make it work".  She chose to embrace the possibilities and opportunities that this uncomfortable place held for her and made a choice to be happy.  I have a lot to learn from this remarkable child.   Maybe she should be keeping this blog.  Clearly she excels at Plan B.