Although Sam was Super Hero-brave yesterday morning when I dropped him off for his first day at Big Kid School, his resolve apparently fell apart sometime later in the morning. According to reports, he rallied about noon and got into the swing of things, but by the time I picked him up, he'd had enough and was falling apart again.

"I was so sad, Mom," were his first words to me. "I don't want to go to school another day. I want to stay home with you and Cj every day."

Does a blade get any sharper than that?

By the time we got to the car, he'd also manage to slip in that he was STARVING. On examination I learned that he'd eaten his snack AND his lunch at 9:30 that morning and hadn't had a bite since then ... and this was at 2:30. Poor kid! (Wouldn't you think someone would be supervising this a bit on the first day? I did, but I have no idea how things work here and often a great deal of trouble getting people to explain systems to me. Ahhh, life in a country you didn't grow up in!)

Everyone at school is speaking in Creole, a language he understands bit of and speaks a little of, and all talking at once a lot of the time, so to say he spent a great deal of the day being confused is an understatement. I'm sure his teacher is attending to him as she can, but with this being intake week for next year's class, which means almost double the kids, I doubt she has time to keep track of one child who may not be quite grasping the goings on.

I've made a point of telling her that she needs to get the other kids to keep their paws of Sam's head, though. With a school full of kinky-locked noggins, his silky straight hair is like a magnet for the other children and they're swamping him on a regular basis.

"It makes me vewy, vewy nuvous," he said.

Last night he swore up and down that he was not going to school ever again, that Mark and I were really mean people if we made him go, and that the whole situation just made him sad and angry.

Yikes!

Time for Mom to formulate a plan.

I had Grandma call Emilie, Sam's 7-year-old cousin and heroine, and ask her to place a pep-call to Sam. Emilie's no great fan of school, so commiserates completely with his take on the whole deal. She's old enough, however, to understand that objections are futile, so who better to pass this bit of reality on to a four-year-old?

He didn't want to talk about his conversation, other than to beam a bit about getting a call just for him from his tres cool mentor in all things kid-like, but we could tell right away that his tide has shifted just a bit.

By this morning, he was excited again, and happy to help me pack his bag ... with me giving detailed instructions on what was for eating when, and a whole bunch of extra food, just in case ... swing it on to his back, and head for the car.

His mood was good on the drive, but once back into the bedlam that is a classroom full of arriving 4-year-olds he put on his "Brave Face" again, and my heart started breaking.

"I'm a little bit sad," he said, "but I'll be happy later."

I don't know about me, though. Later just means college and marriage and .... whaaaaaaa!