I don’t remember my first day of preschool, but I remember my last. Sitting on a bench with my mom outside the classroom as she chewed me out for chewing on a boy’s arm. Okay I didn’t chew on his arm, I bit him, hard. I started preschool because Mom was a night nurse and she needed to sleep during the day. “If you’re real quiet and stay off your pony while I’m in bed, I’ll let you stay home with me,” she said after unsuccessfully talking me into no more biting. I wasn’t about to promise no more biting. Biting brought my mom to school early to take me home.

So I didn’t get mad because I couldn’t find Cruz when it was time to go to his first day of school. I totally understood why he was hiding. I didn’t want to start school either at his age. “If you go to school, and be a good boy while you’re there, I’ll buy you a toy afterwards,” I called out after searching for him for fifteen minutes without success. Pretty soon he appeared, not happy one bit, but willing to go to school if I kept my end of the bargain.

They say you shouldn’t bargain with kids. If you ask me, this is not bargaining, this is teaching life skills. If you go to work, you earn a paycheck. If you save your money, you earn a vacation. If you get your shots at the doctor’s office without kicking the nurse or breaking the sound barrier with your screams, you get a toy. This is the American way. Getting there was tough, but once we arrived what a wonderful classroom with warm, smiling teachers, Miss. Jenny and Miss Brenda.

I especially felt a bond with Miss Brenda when she shared she had her last baby at 43, just like me. Miss Brenda’s got adult kids and a second grader now. Her youngest wasn’t planned like Cruz was planned– actually my husband planned Cruz and I wept and prayed before giving in to another pregnancy in my forties– and it isn’t very often I meet a mom like me. I was so thankful for Miss Brenda. I’ve been dreading this first day of preschool figuring the other moms would look like my daughters, and some of them did, but Miss Brenda made me feel normal.

I know I’m not a normal preschool mom in 2015.

Normal on the first day of school for a mom my age is this…

Our oldest son’s starting his senior year of high school. As I snapped this picture at 7 a.m., I thanked God we hadn’t stopped at Luke. Four little brothers follow in his wake. Ten years of babies after Luke started preschool. A decade I can hardly remember from my mid-thirties to my mid-forties.

What I do remember about these years was giving up lunches with my girlfriends. Before I gave birth to boys, my darling daughters would sit there drawing me a masterpiece to hang on our refrigerator while I chatted with my girlfriends over salads in cheerful cafes. Then Luke came along. Tearing up ten papers in two minutes. Breaking all the crayons. Spitting on the cafe floor. My brother, at lunch with me one day, laughed his fool head off, which made Luke spit on the floor all the more. Luke also discovered gum under our table and chewed himself a piece. I about threw up my salad. That was the end of lunch dates for me.

Also the end of good nights of sleep. Luke didn’t sleep through the night until he was four. By then I was pregnant again. And no more romantic dinners with my husband. And did I say no more full nights of sleep? Having a boy changed everything for me. Five boys has rocked my world.

We still have a four-year-old crawling into our bed several nights a week. He kicks like a goat and tries to breathe the breath coming out of my mouth. I am not a cuddler in sleep so this keeps me awake. I used to carry Cruz back to his own bed, but he’s gotten so big it’s like lugging a fifty-pound bag of dog food down the hall. Fortunately, Scott often returns him to his bed so I can sleep.

Today, Cruz sat on my lap in his preschool class, looking at the other kids like he’d never seen a student before, let alone had any desire to be one. I felt his pain. I remember feeling the same way about preschool.

“School isn’t what you expect,” said G2. “Don’t do it! Don’t start school! Stay home with Mom!” G2 yelled as he worked himself into a lather the other day when I announced Cruz was going to school too this year.

Ten-year-old Joey tackled G2 and put his hand over his mouth. “School’s fun,” Joey assured Cruz, wrestling seven-year-old G2 into silence.

Twelve-year-old John stepped up behind Joey. “It’s not fun,” said honest John. “But you have to go. Everybody goes to school.” Then he pulled Joey off of G2. John helps me keep his brothers in line.

All this is kind of how I feel about life right now. It’s bigger than I expected and some days I just don’t want to go. I never knew the mountains would be so high and the valleys so low. I never knew I’d spend this summer selling fruit till I was exhausted, and then staying up late reading about grief because our family has buried a beloved child. Anna wasn’t my daughter, but I loved that girl. It seems impossible she’s gone. That Anna will never call me “Aunt Paula” again. I can still hear her sweet voice. I can’t believe she turns 15 tomorrow, but won’t be here to celebrate on this earth. Please pray for Anna’s parents and siblings. Pray for our whole family. We still so desperately need your prayers.

So what do we do when life is bigger than us? When the mountains are steep and the valleys low? When the first day of school is bigger than your reluctant four-year-old?

Yesterday, Cruz sat on my lap and kept looking at me, his eyes begging me to assure him everything would be okay. That he was going to be fine in school this year.

The Bible says, God is our Father. That we must look to Him with childlike faith. Life may be bigger than us, but it’s never bigger than the One who created it. “He is the Maker of heaven and earth, the sea, and everything in them– he remains faithful forever” Psalm 146:6. 

Anna will spend her birthday tomorrow with Him in heaven. I believe, help my unbelief, I’ve prayed numerous times since Anna died. I thought this was maybe a weird thing. Why is believing such a part of my grieving? In the book: Choosing to See, Mary Beth Chapman prays the same thing again and again after losing her little girl. “I believe, please help my unbelief.” 

The truth is, what we believe shapes our lives. Today I will take Cruz back to school knowing his eyes will be on me. My eyes will be on the Heavenly Father. God is bigger than school. Bigger than our highest mountains and lowest valleys. Bigger than the earth and the raging seas.