On Monday, August 13th, my 5 year old began his journey into the public education system. Fortunately, I was able to move into a reasonably good area with an even more reasonably good school. I did have a few flashbacks of my own early school experiences. There is a requirement for the students to where uniforms: khaki pants, polo shirts, a belt, shoes that lace up; shades of Catholic school, but thankfully with no sign of corporal punishment lurking like shark beneath the waves.
We've been talking about his starting Kindergarten since he started pre-K the prior year. I figured if we talked it up and got him aware of what was going to be expected of him, he would have an easier time adjusting. Now, I am trying figure out about what I was worried! Aside from slow rousing in the early morning, each day has new, wonderful, and somewhat bittersweet surprise waiting inside.
On the first day, parting was easy enough. We got to the school early enough for him to eat breakfast there; something he
wants to do. We could eat at home, but since so many of the other children do, my son wants to as well. We went through the line together, he bought me a milk (I don't drink milk). We sat next to one another. I was thrilled that he wanted me to sit with him. He greeted children he knew, waving excitedly and saying their names a little loudly. This same routine was given to the on-duty teachers as well. I figure either he is going to be the most popular boy in the school or the school's biggest spaz, probably both! :)
Eating takes a long time when you are a child being distracted by saying "hi," so often. I spent most of my time saying, "Ok! 10 more minutes and we have to leave the cafeteria and go to class!" All students must be in class by 7:50 a.m. STAT! The class starts exactly at 7:50. Exactly. Oh, joy. The Cullen-McCann genes have an innate inability to be on-time. Woo.
On our first day, we ran just a few minutes late. His teachers, earnest and exceedingly upbeat empty-nester's, love teaching this age group. His primary teacher in the class oozes with such Southern Charm, one can only imagine the struggle would be epic to avoid succumbing to it. She got me the day before when she called me on a Sunday to let me know that she would be his teacher. We chatted amiably for over half an hour about the school, being a first time mom of kindergartner, and what does a tri-fold-mat mean anway... She was kind enough to buy one on my behalf when she went to K-Mart. I owed her a mere $5, when I had been expecting to spend something around $25. If that wasn't enough to win me over, she huggled on the boyo in the Orientation meeting the next evening, saying, "Oo-ooh! He is so cute, it will be so hard not to S-P-O-I-L him." The clincher of course was relaying a story of her son at my son's age playing similarly and telling her son just that. Her son is in his 30's now. Needless to say, I feel comfortable that my wee man is in the right teacher's group.
Our only conflict and a minor, minor one at that, is a little goodbye routine my boyo and I developed. This routine saved many a melt down when I was leaving him in pre-K and has now become a regular for pretty much anytime one leaves the house: you have to beep to him.
Now, beeping from the house is fairly easy to do. He stands at the top of the drive and whomever is leaving beeps the horn twice and waves as they pull away. The boyo stands and waves until the driver can no longer be seen waving. In pre-K, the parking lot was adjacent to the room window, so then it become a matter of waving through the window, then beep-beeping as I pulled away. In daycare, the situation was the same.
Elementary school is vastly different. The campus is focused away from streets and in towards various green space areas around the campus. So, to avoid melt-down, I verbally beep-beeped and waved as I rounded the corner heading out of the building. This satisfied the boyo, but made the teacher's routine a little hard to establish. One day, I decided to drop him off at the front door and then park the car. We were running a little late and I wanted him to get in line for breakfast. I checked with him first and he was cool with it. The next day I asked him if he would like to do that again. Excitedly, he agreed. The next day after that, I asked him if he would like to try and do breakfast by himself and go to his class by himself. He thought on this.
"Next week mommy, and when I am six."
"Alright, whenever you're ready," I replied.
Thursday, the lady that opened the drop off door tried to get him to go by himself, to which he replied, "No, mommy goes with me today. I'll go next week and when I am 6."
The lady chuckled, then smiled at me, "Well, I tried!" After breakfast we ran into the teacher's aide, who said "Come on, I'll walk you to class! You've got to walk to class on your own."
Bascially, I felt as if I wasn't allowed to walk him to his class anymore. Admittedly, that feeling bugged me a bit. I want to walk him to class. I want to hear from the teachers and establish a relationship with them. We waved and did our beep beeps away from the classroom.
"Bye, Mommy! Love you!"
Ah, I thought I was going to cry. I certainly did have a wavering lip going on.
On Friday, as we loaded into the car, my boyo announces, "I'm going to do it on my own today and then when I am six."
"A test run, to see how it goes?"
"Yep! I brought my watch so I can watch my time."
"Ok, well it sounds like you are all set!"
We were very early that first morning. As I drove off, I felt very worried about him making it safely, unattended to the cafeteria. Just as my worries nearly had me parking the car, his other teacher comes up, takes his hand and smiles and waves at me. Relief. Hooray for Mrs O! I later find that the day was a good one with few mishaps.
During the week, we also went through his being able to put on his own belt, through the belt loops, "I can do it myself mommy!" to still learning how to tie his shoes. After the successful foray on his own, he decides that he does not need to be 6. He can "do it on his own always. "
Suddenly, my independent little boy really is an independent wee man.
Thankfully, he still reaches out to hold my hand and says he loves me often out of nowhere. Otherwise, I think I might just have a breakdown due to separation anxiety!
