PANIC

I think I can safely say I now know the true meaning of that word.

Wilder has school on Fridays; Hunter does not. So we all three walked into school this morning and, when we got there, Wilder did what he usually does, which is throw me his backpack and run off to play on the playground. Some of the other kindergarten moms have commented on this, on how totally unafraid he seems and how independent he is. A lot of the other kindergarteners stick close by their moms or get into line and wait. Anyway, this morning, Hunter initially went with Wilder, but when a bunch of kids started showing up, I grabbed H and we went to wait for the school bell to ring. At Wilder's school, they line up with their classmates and their teachers come out to get them, so when the bell rings, all the kids stop whatever they're doing and run to get in line.

So the bell rings. And I start looking for Wilder. The last week or so, he's been slow to get moving once he hears the bell, so this morning I talked to him about how I needed him to speed it up. "Okay," he said, and that was that.

So I'm looking for him. And waiting. And ... nothing. He's not headed toward his line. So I grab Hunter's hand and we start heading for the playground. He's not there.

I walk as fast as having a 3-year-old in tow will let me to make sure I didn't miss him getting into line. Maybe he's already there? Nope. His teacher looks at me and mouths, "Where's Wilder?" I tell her I can't find him. "You lost him?" she asks. OK, now I feel like crap and I'm starting to really freak out. Thanks.

So she tells me to go look more and she's going to take the kids in and come back.

I head back to the playground and — of course — sirens start going off a couple of blocks away. I frantically search all the nooks and crannies on the playground, hollering his name as loud as I can. It was at this point, I think, that I gave into pure panic and fright. I could not get those sirens out of my head. I was torn between running toward them and running toward the school office, and I thought: "I have to call Jerry!" So I grabbed my phone to call him.

And a strange number came up on my screen.

"Hello???"

"Hi, is this Kristi? This is Anna at Birch ..." Pause.

It was all I could do to not scream into the phone: "DO YOU HAVE MY BABY!!!!???"

"Wilder is here. He cut himself above the eye and ... garble garble garble ..."

Of COURSE the phone is breaking up.

I tell her I'm on my way and start heading toward the office.

It's at this point that I realize I've totally freaked Hunter out. "Is Wilder OK? Where is he???" he starts asking me.

I assure him his brother is fine, and then I see Wilder's teacher, heading toward me. "Did you find him?" she asked. Genuine concern on her face now, so I'm forgiving the "You lost him?" comment.

Anyway, she gets me into the school and I cut through the building, fighting tears, to get to the office. There's the boy, looking very small and vulnerable with a slightly bleeding cut above his eyebrow, dirt on his face, sitting there while the principal fixes his glasses. She hands me a tissue. Hunter hugs his brother. All is OK now and yet I can't stop crying.

A friend of mine just called and asked why the person who took him into the office didn't try to find me first. Here's what I think happened: A lot of the older kids, their parents just drop them off at school and head off. And Wilder looks so much older than a kindergartener, and I think someone just assumed he didn't have a parent there. And then the principal, who knows him (there's a story for another time ...), saw him and had someone call me, knowing I would probably be totally losing it.

So now I'm home, and it occurs to me that while we were walking to school this morning, Wilder gave me one of those fuzzy dandelion flowers and told me to blow it and make a wish. Well, I've been in a funk this week ... a pretty major one. Not sure why, but it happens sometimes this time of year. My mom's birthday is coming up and we just moved into a new house and my kiddo started kindergarten and I miss her. I want her to tell me it's OK that Wilder has already been sent to the principal's office (again, another story ...) and I want her to help me pick out paint colors and all that. So when I blow that dandelion fuzz, I wish this: "Let this funk go away and let this be an awesome day."

Sometimes, it takes a little perspective to realize again how amazing and easy you actually have it. My kid is fine. He's safe, and nothing else — nothing else — matters.

So yes, the funk is gone. Thanks universe, for answering my wish in such a awfully instructive way. I am paying attention, I promise.

Oh, and one more thing ... remember that cut above Wilder's eye I told you about? Guess what today is? Picture day! Yep, my little guy's gonna look like a tough little dude in his kindergarten school picture. This makes me kinda happy.