A Couple of Mama Firsts

Wednesday was my first (and, sadly, probably last) day volunteering at Sarah's school.  She was excited to have me there, as were the other kids.  What a wonderful age 4 is!  I was impressed that she went about her business without being too distracted by my presence.  Every 10 minutes or so, she would come over to ask, "How are you doing, Mom?"  It was fun to watch her interact with the other kids and her teacher.

The class happily posed for a group shot for me, then found their spots for the morning meeting.

The kids had to go up and write the number 3 on the paper.  The first drew it backwards, and each one after that seemed to copy it.  I sat in the back silently pulling for Sarah to break the streak, and she did!  She made a beautiful, forward 3.

After morning meeting, they had to pick partners and dance to "Hello Neighbor."  Sarah chose her friend, "Adam Bell." [There are two "Adams" in the class, and Sarah often talks about playing with "Adam Bell."] She sings this song at home, and Don and I have struggled to understand the line where she shimmies. The closest we could get was "bugging on down," and she swore that was right. Turns out, it's "boogey on down." Of course -- we should have gotten that.

Next, it was time for "centers," where the kids get to choose what activities they do and circulate among stations at their discretion.  Each has a clothes pin with his/her name on it, and each station has a sign with a certain number of dots, indicating how many kids can be there at once.  The kids clip their clothes pins on the dots.  I was amazed at how orderly and well behaved the class was.  After only 26 days of class, the 18 kids had their routine down and conducted themselves with very few disagreements. 

I told Sarah that I would be leaving after "centers," so that she wouldn't be caught off-guard.  The moment her teacher announced the next activity, she found her place on the carpet and sternly told me to leave.  I stopped to chat with the teacher for a minute, and she repeated, "Go, Mom, go."  I talked her into one more shot of her and her teacher, then took my leave.

Thursday afternoon was my first parent-teacher conference.  Sarah got a glowing report, of course.  Her teacher gushed about how sweet, bright, and cooperative she is, and how she comforts the other kids when they're upset about something.  Art is her favorite "center," and she also loves to play with the blocks and trucks (you go, girl!).  She has adjusted to school beautifully, and I couldn't be prouder of her. 

Fall Fun

Last Friday, Sarah's class met at a local apple orchard on their day off.  She was very excited to see her school friends and pointed them all out to me.  As always, she was reserved and stuck close to me while the other kids ran around playing.  After she and I did the corn maze a few times, however, I convinced her to do it with her friend Aubrynn, and she was quite proud to lead Aubrynn to the scare crow. 

Sarah had her first lesson in peer pressure when Aubrynn wanted to go into the haunted house.  She was hesitant, but I let Aubrynn lead her into the building as I followed.  As soon as the door closed and it got dark, Sarah froze.  I leaned down and asked her if she wanted to go, and she said, "No."  I told her all she had to do was say, "No, thank you" when someone asks her to do something she doesn't want to, and we left.  She was obviously relieved.

Four Weeks of 4K...

...and I have a different daughter.  Gone is the screaming, pleading little girl I peeled off me the second week.  In her place is a happy, confident student who, this morning, insisted that I drop her off at the curb so she could walk into school -- all by herself.

Of course, we've been working our way toward this day for the last few weeks, but I didn't expect it to come so suddenly.  By last week, we'd progressed from my helping her with her backpack, coat, and folder in the hall, then walking her into her room and getting her seated at the coloring table before leaving, all the way to her taking care of her things then giving me a kiss and heading into class on her own. 

On Friday, her teacher sent me an email saying that, starting next week, parents should drop kids off at the school office instead of walking them to class.  She was giving me a week's notice so that I could prepare Sarah.  Yesterday, a note came home in Sarah's folder explaining the new routine.  I wasn't sure how she'd respond, but when I read it to her, she yelled, "Let's do that tomorrow!"

As we know, once Sarah sets her mind to something, it's as good as done.  This morning, on the way to school, she told me over and over, "Now, Mom, you need to drive up right in front of the school, and I'll get out and walk in all by myself."  I did, and she did. 

I stood by the car waiting to see if she could open the door by herself, but she instructed me to get back in.  She marched up to the door, heaved it open, slipped inside, and that was the last I saw of her.  It was a bit disconcerting, but I knew she could find her way to class, so off I drove, feeling somewhat unneeded, but mostly very proud.  I wonder what she'll be tackling a month from now....

Chinese School

With all the drama surrounding 4K, I failed to mention that Sarah also started Chinese School last Saturday afternoon (I go with her, so there are no separation issues).  On the first day, the teacher asked her to go to the board to write a character.  I was so surprised when she pushed her chair back, walked briskly to the board, and copied it -- nothing to it!  She enjoys her homework and is very serious about it.  I'm sure she will be tutoring me in no time.

As They Say in China, Hallelujah!

She did it!  Sarah made it to school and back home with no tears today. 

She wasn't keen on getting up (remember when I couldn't get her to sleep past 5:30?) and hid under the covers, but I was silly with her and finally coaxed her out.  She was chipper from then on.  At one point, she said, "Mom, we're going to talk about school at breakfast, okay?" and my heart fluttered, but it turned out she just wanted to hear about all the fun things she'd be doing.

On the drive in, she said, "Mom, I'm going to try not to get mad at school today."  She marched down the hall holding my hand, put her backpack away, did her check-in procedure and said hello to the teacher, and took a seat at the coloring table.  I gave her a quick kiss and vamoosed.  No drama whatsoever!

She arrived home in a buoyant mood, yelling goodbye to the driver as she stepped off the bus.  She was so excited to show me all of the things she'd brought home and share her day.  They went to the school library today, and she got a book and a bookmark, which was a real prize in her eyes.

As she sat down for lunch, she said, "Mom, I decided to get used to it today."  I yelled, "Hallelujah!" and she replied, "That's Chinese, right?"  A few minutes later she said she wasn't sad or embarrassed or mad at all today, just happy.  And a little proud, I think.  :)

Paybacks...Well, You Know

Last week, when I shared the saga of Sarah and 4K with my mom and said I thought we were making progress, she said, "Oh, wait until Monday.  You were fine the first week of kindergarten, but the next Monday, I had to pry your hands off me as the bus doors closed."  Thanks for the pep talk, Mom.

Well, she was right (darn it!).  While Thursday went pretty well -- Sarah started to cry softly as I left the room, but I bolted, and she arrived home happy as ever at lunch time -- yesterday was awful.

Sarah cried about school every day of her long weekend, usually for about five minutes after lunch.  Sunday night, she started getting upset at bedtime, but I managed to redirect the conversation, and she fell asleep quickly.  At 3:30 yesterday morning, though, she was awake worried about school.  After I comforted her, she stayed in her bed for a bit but then came into the little bed in our room.  While she was quiet, I don't think she slept much.

At 5:45, she called to me, and I brought her into our bed to cuddle.  She promptly fell asleep.  Of course, I had to wake her 45 minutes later for school, and she wasn't happy.  I coaxed her into getting dressed (in school clothes, even), and she had warm milk while I read her Mother Goose.  She was subdued but okay during breakfast, and on the drive to school.

Once we got in the room, though, she grabbed my hand and started crying.  The paraeducator came over and tried to occupy her, but she leapt into my arms and started sobbing.  The para started to take her from me, but I told her no.  That was probably a mistake, but I just couldn't do it at that point.

I tried talking to Sarah and negotiating my departure, but she'd have none of it.  I took her to the hall, and we sat for a bit, while she cried and I tried not to.  I was so torn about what to do.  I knew what "everyone" said, but I've ignored "everyone's" advice from the beginning, and I haven't regretted it.  I racked my brain for a way to smooth the transition, but Sarah was wailing by then, and I knew I had two choices: peel her off me and leave or take her home and lose all the ground we'd gained, and possibly more.

The teacher came to the door and asked what I wanted her to do.  Sarah started screaming at the top of her lungs and clutching me for dear life.  I pried her off and handed her to the teacher.  She was actually hitting the teacher!  I headed down the hall in tears myself.  After passing two teachers (who smiled sympathetically), I ducked out the nearest door and called Don.

Although he assured me I'd done the right thing, it sure didn't feel right.  I was a wreck for the next 45 minutes, until I finally called the teacher.  She said Sarah had cried for about three minutes after I left, then joined the other kids at an activity.  Her new little friends had given her hugs and pictures to make her feel better, and she was now smiling and enjoying herself.  After I hung up, I checked my email and found that the teacher had sent me an update just minutes before I called -- she is very sweet, and we're all lucky to have her as Sarah's first teacher.

When she got off the bus before lunch, Sarah was slightly more subdued than last week, but she was smiling and eager to share with me all that she'd done in school.  She proudly showed me the pictures her friends gave her and sang the song they learned.  After lunch, she went to quiet time and passed out in her chair.

In her email, Sarah's teacher asked if she had shared anything specific that she doesn't like about school.  I said she hasn't, and I think I know why.  Being at school isn't the problem; being away from home is.  I can remember feeling the same way when I started kindergarten.  I liked the kids and the activities, but I liked being home more.  I always felt as though I was missing something great at home while I was in school (this feeling popped up again during freshman year at college and, much later, whenever I traveled for work).  I am a hardcore homebody, and I think Sarah is, too.

Sarah has had the rare experience of being home with both parents all day, every day for the past three years.  She has a leisurely routine of rising whenever she wakes; drinking warm milk and reading a book with Mom while Dad makes her breakfast; eating with Mom and Dad; watching S*same Str**t; playing with Dad for a while, then sharing snack with him; then playing on her own or baking with Mom until lunch.  Who wouldn't try to hold onto that?

So, I don't think it's so much what she's being pushed toward as what she's being forced to leave behind that is upsetting Sarah right now.  She knows she's safe at school and that she will come home soon.  She just doesn't want to let go of her privileged lifestyle.

Realizing this comforts me some.  It is still heart-wrenching to see her so upset, but I can handle her being sad better than being scared.  She will adjust, and I need to stay the course and be strong. 

This morning, she woke in tears but perked up pretty quickly.  She was fine for a while at breakfast then turned blue and said she wanted Daddy to drive her to school instead of me.  I first said okay, then decided it wasn't a good idea to change horses in midstream (I suspected she was counting on Dad to be a softer touch).  When I said I'd take her, she burst into tears.

We compromised, and Dad drove both of us to school but waited in the car while I walked her in (I know what you're thinking -- too many parents!).  She sobbed along the way, then grabbed me screaming once we reached the room.  I was strong, though.  I pried her off right away, kissed her, handed her to the teacher, and walked out.

I didn't worry quite so much this morning, and she arrived home happy and chatty.  The note from the teacher said she had stopped crying right after I left and was cheery all morning.  There was little angst about school this afternoon and evening, and no tears!  She started to fret at bedtime, but I joked around with her, and she moved on.  She called me back once to clarify that she won't go to school next summer, then she was quiet.

I think she's starting to accept her new reality, and I don't think she's even that unhappy about it anymore.  She just doesn't want to admit it yet.  She likes to be in control, and she's trying to figure out how to make going to school look like her idea.  I have little doubt she will eventually, and I'll happily play along.

4K, Act II

Never count Sarah out in the drama department.  After a hugely successful first day at school, she turned cold on the idea last night. 

She gets to play on the iP*d before dinner each night and is sometimes reluctant to turn it off when asked.  The rule is, if she doesn't turn it off when asked, she doesn't get to play it the next night.  Yesterday, she dragged her feet, so I said, "What do you think will happen if you don't turn it off now?"  She replied, "I won't play the iP*d tomorrow, and I'm not going to school, either!"  Uh-oh.

This was no idle threat.  She repeated her intention all through dinner.  I first tried to act impartial about it, hoping my indifference would quash her rebellion.  Then, I told her I'd be sad if she didn't go, because she'd miss so much fun.  She said, "Don't be sad; mind your own business" (which, I have to admit, is a good point -- soon, I'll be telling her not to worry about what other people think).

I managed to table the discussion until this morning, when I woke her.  She sat up and asked, "What are we doing today?"  When I said, "You're going to school," she said, "No, I'm not!" and burst into tears.  I got into bed with her and tried to comfort her, to no avail.  She pleaded with me, and I wanted so badly to give in and let her stay home, but I stood my ground.  It was the toughest moment of my short parenting career.

After more tears and screaming (hers, not mine, thank goodness), I finally asked if she wanted me to drive her to school, instead of riding the bus.  This seemed to turn the tide.  She asked me to stay with her, too, and I said I'd stay in the back of the room for five minutes while she got settled, then give her a kiss and leave.  She grudgingly agreed.

She refused to put on her good clothes and, instead, emerged from her room in a mismatched outfit of "farm clothes."  I told her she could wear farm clothes, but not those particular ones, and convinced her to put on the most presentable duds she had.  Sure, today was photo day, but I'm learning to choose my battles (and I have gorgeous shots from her session last month).

I gave her the old "warm milk in a sippy cup" as a peace offering, and she seemed to perk up during breakfast ("I'm a little bit happy now, Mom.").  I drove her to school and followed our agreed-upon plan.  As I waited in the back of the room, I noted that most of the other little girls were dressed up, with bows and curls in their hair; one even wore dangly earrings.  Sarah didn't seem to notice.  I think she has the "not caring what others think" thing down.  If she could only hold onto it as she ages.

At the appointed time, I gave her a quick kiss and left, with no objections.  She arrived home in the same mood as yesterday -- slightly uneasy, but with a smile on her face.  She announced that she had chocolate milk for snack again and wondered once more at my joy in seeing her.  She asked if she's going back tomorrow and said she wants me to drive her again.  Then, she ate lunch and headed to quiet time.  Let's hope that's the end of the discussion for today.  Tomorrow, Act III.

She Went, She Saw, She Conquered 4K

Sarah is officially a schoolgirl!  And she made the transition with very little drama or fanfare.

Last night at dinner, she asked over and over, "Why I need to go to school, Mom?"  I came up with as many fun, exciting reasons as I could, but she still acted unconvinced.  In the tub, she announced, "I'm not going to get on the bus, Mom."  Trying to appear unfazed, I said, "Oh, you don't want to have any fun, then?"  She smiled and said, "I was just kidding!"  Hardy, har, har....

Once in bed, she seemed fine and was quiet for quite a while after lights out, leading me to believe she'd fallen asleep quickly.  Then, she called me in to ask some silly question, which is routine and allowed once.  When she summoned the fourth time (I was cutting her some slack), I could see the grim look on her face and asked if she wanted me to lie with her while she went to sleep.  We cuddled, and I sang "Rock-a-Bye Baby," accompanied by her pull-string bunny, for a while.  Then she said it was enough (which I tried not to take personally) and drifted off to sleep.

I expected to hear from her again during the night, but she was quiet, and I had to wake her at 6:20.  She rose cheerily enough, but soon said her head didn't want to go to school.  She elaborated that her forehead didn't want to go and pulled her bangs up for me to feel.  Trying to fake illness at four?  She IS precocious.  I assured her she didn't have a fever, and we moved on.

She has quite a morning routine, and I've been working to shorten it for a few weeks now.  Until she turned four, she still drank warm milk in a sippy cup in my lap before breakfast; now that's a luxury for non-school days.  She still insists on reading a book before eating, though, so we chose a short one, then proceeded to breakfast.

She was partway through her meal, when the bus went by (lucky for us, there are no through-streets in our neighborhood, and the driver agreed to pick her up on the way back out) -- about 10 minutes earlier than expected.  This sent us both into a bit of a tizzy, but turned out to be good, I think, because there wasn't much time for last-minute nerves.  She brushed her teeth, and we headed out to wait at the end of the driveway.

When the bus pulled up, she marched across the street holding my hand, climbed up the big steps, and took a seat in the front, where an older girl greeted her.  A quick kiss, and she was on her way.  I managed to hold back tears long enough to give a cheery wave and turn toward the house.  Then, it was hopeless.  I've never heard such silence as in our house this morning (did I mention Don's gone fishing all week?).

I busied myself with housecleaning (didn't dare go for a walk, in case I got a call from the school) and tried not to think too much about what might be happening a few miles away.  My cell phone rang mid-morning, stopping my heart, but, of course, it was nothing.

At 11:00, when school ended, I took my tea and headed out to the front step to await Sarah's triumphant return.  By 11:25, I was convinced she had been so traumatized by the initial bus ride that she had refused to re-board to come home.  Then, I spotted the little yellow bus on the highway and watched it turn down our road.  It pulled right into our driveway and discharged one happy, proud little girl.

As I gushed and asked about her day, Sarah kept saying, "Why are you so happy to see me, Mom?" as if the whole thing was no big deal.  She slowly disclosed details, such as having chocolate milk for snack (probably the third time she's ever had it) and learning the playground rules.  The only time she showed much emotion was when I mentioned returning tomorrow.  "You mean I'm going back?" she said.  Ahhh, I guess we didn't go over that part.

Ready to go (mostly)

A sight for my sore eyes

Mission accomplished!

Giving in to a well earned nap

Y4K?

W*sconsin offers Kindergarten for four-year-olds (4K), and last Monday was the open house at Sarah's school.  All of sudden, it seems like just around the corner that she'll be getting on the bus and heading off to school.  A couple of months ago, I never could have pictured it, but she's gained a lot of confidence since Christmas, and I think she'll be ready when the time comes.

After staying with her in Sunday School since September, I'm finally able to leave after a few minutes and wait for her in the community room.  I tried it a couple of weeks ago, and afterwards, she proclaimed, "Let's do it again next week!"  Okay!  The irony is that, now I have to overcome my own discomfort with walking into the near-empty community room and sitting down to chat with people I don't know well (Don heads home after coffee time and comes back to get us after Sunday School).  So, we're both growing.

After talking excitedly about school for the last year or so, as we pulled into the parking lot Monday, Sarah asked doubtfully, "Mom, why I want to go to school?"  When we got to the classroom, she shyly said "Hello" to her teacher, gripping my finger.  I walked her around the room.  When we came to the carpet where the kids sit for story time, I pointed out the different colored shapes on the floor and asked her, "Which one do you think you'll like to sit on?"  Big mistake.  She plopped herself down on the purple oval and wouldn't budge. 

Pretty soon, she got Dad to sit beside her and wouldn't let him get up (I've played this game before and wouldn't get drawn in).  I explored the play stations scattered around the room and tried to entice her to check them out.  She refused for a while but finally could resist the hamster no longer.  She gradually moved on to other things, and it was tough to pull her away an hour later. 

4K is half-day, Monday through Thursday.  We'll find out in June whether Sarah will be in the morning or afternoon session.  While I had thought morning would work better for us, I'm now hoping for afternoon.  I knew that one bus comes into our neighborhood for all the kids from 4K through high school in the morning, then the 4K kids have their own little bus bring them home before lunch.  I thought the situation was reversed in the afternoon, but we learned that the 4Kers have their own bus both ways then.  I don't like the idea of Sarah getting on the bus with teenagers.  That just seems too intimidating.  I think she (and I) would do better with a little bus.

Either way, morning or afternoon, I think Sarah will be ready to spread her wings and go off to do her own thing for a few hours a day by the end of summer.  I think she's somewhat outgrown staying home with Mom and Dad all day.  In the past month, she has blossomed, sharing more complex thoughts (and sentences) and becoming much more physical -- dancing, jumping, kicking, etc.  She's quite a character and actually talks with other adults when we're out.

I will be ready for her to fly, also.  Having a few hours a day to focus on getting things done will be a welcome change.  Right now, even though I'm fortunate to have Don home all the time and I get a mostly uninterrupted hour of quiet time after lunch, I feel as though I'm always trying to squeeze in a few more to-dos while Sarah wants my attention.  I look forward to focusing more on her while she's home and hearing about all the things she's learning when she gets back from school.  Half a day seems perfect.

I'm not expecting the transition to be easy, however.  I know there will be tears.  I hope they will be only mine, but I'm prepared for them to be hers, too.  I asked the teacher if I'd be allowed to sit in the back of the classroom for a few days if necessary, and she assured me I would, although she's never had a child who needed it.  I'm sure she thinks I'm a helicopter mom, but I know Sarah, and new situations are tough for her.  I don't want to push her and have to spend weeks working our way back to her comfort zone.  Been there; done that; don't care to repeat it.

There's a case in the school lobby with adorable little live finches.

Glued to the purple oval

Sarah and her teacher

Checking out the hamster with her teacher

Dad finally pursuaded Sarah to let him sit in a (tiny) chair instead of on the carpet.

Making a chain

Relaxing some (just when it's time to leave)