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.

There's Nothing Like a Big Sister

Rachel and Matt were here this weekend.  It was a low-key visit, which we all enjoyed, but Sarah's excitement meter was pegged.  She just lights up around her family.  It was torture for her (and, therefore, Don and me) waiting for them to get up in the morning.  Then, she expected nonstop interaction, which I'm sure was taxing.  She fell asleep quickly tonight, and I have a feeling the rest of us will, also. 

Playing "tickle sticks" (a game she created) with Rachel...

...and Matt

 

Playing cards with Rachel

Helping Rachel cook an omelet

Playing on Rachel's e-reader

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.

The Time Is Now, We Hope

Yes, that's a (gasp!) For Sale sign in front of our house.  I've mentioned a couple of times that we plan to move to New Engl*nd to be near my family.  We had hoped that I could find a job there first, which would help pay for our relocation.  A recent family development has convinced us not to wait, however, and we've figured out how to do it with our current assets.  The house was listed online Friday, and we put the sign up this morning.

My sister Heather has been fighting breast cancer almost continuously for the past nine years.   She is receiving the best care in the world, I believe, and each time a challenge has arisen, it has been met successfully with new drugs.  This summer, she learned that the lesions in her brain are growing again.  She began a new treatment regimen a few weeks ago, and her doctor is confident that it will do the job.  She is a remarkable woman, and I have faith that she will continue to have the upper hand in this battle.

This latest episode made it clear to me, however, that waiting for all the pieces to fall into place for our move was wasting precious time.  Life is uncertain, and if I want Sarah to grow up surrounded by my family, then I should get her there now.  In other words, the best way to move to New Engl*nd is to just do it.  Things will work out.

Our first thought was to list the house in the spring.  After meeting with the realtors, though, we decided on October 1, since it might not sell quickly and I want to be settled in time for Sarah to start kindergarten in the fall (although I refuse to think too much about THAT right now). Then, we figured we could be ready by mid-September, and somehow that morphed into last week. 

It was quite a week, with Don gone fishing, Sarah starting school, inspectors poking around, and me trying to make the place presentable.  But then, Don and I have a history of doing big things all at once -- ten years ago, we married, moved, and started new jobs all within a month, and three years ago, he retired right before we went to China to adopt Sarah.

The realtors are optimistic the house will sell quickly (what else would they say?).  If they're right, we could be moving before Thanksgiving.  We've been househunting online and have homed in on an area roughly 20 miles west, south, and east of Br*ttleboro, V*rmont.  That would put us about an hour from my mom and not much more from my sister and brother.  It would also be within commuting distance (barely) of the F*sh & W*ldlife Service regional office, which leaves the door open a crack for job possibilities for me.

Sarah is beyond excited about living near her Grammy, aunts, uncles, and cousins.  I know she doesn't understand the process, but she seems okay with letting another family have our house.  She has welcomed the many strangers (real estate agents, movers, inspectors, photographer) we've had recently and tagged along to see what they're doing, offering much unsolicited advice.  When we signed the sales contract, she sat quietly at the table and took detailed notes, which she offered to the realtors when we were done.  They were good sports and said they'd add the page to our file, which pleased her greatly.

Don and I are absorbing the impact of such a big change.  We both have adored this house since the day we first laid eyes on it.  It is our dream home -- more than either of us ever dreamed of, really.  We both grew up in much simpler abodes.  I still get a thrill every time I pull into my heated garage on an inclement day and walk into the house unscathed by the weather.

And then there's the property.  I always wanted to have a little farm, much like the one my mom still has.  I didn't think it would ever happen, but I've enjoyed these five acres and the plants and animals they support for a decade now.  I've watched the old silver maple "Grandfather Tree" stoically endure the harsh winters and generously offer shade from the blistering summer sun.  I've nurtured perennial fruits and flowers, while Don has planted hundreds of native shrubs and fostered three plots of native prairie.

The goats, donkeys, and chickens have brought us (and our neighbors) untold joy.  My greatest concern with the whole move is finding good homes for them, as we won't be able to bring them east with us.  I worry about the donkeys the most, since they are all relatively young, donkeys live to be 40 or so, and the market seems to be saturated.

With all that said, I am still sure that we've made the right decision.  Ever since we moved here, I've daydreamed about living in New Engl*nd once more, but I could never envision leaving these five acres.  I've felt torn by the possibility -- wanting it so badly but unable to embrace it.  Something inside me changed a few weeks ago, however, and I now know that we belong there, not here.  We've been immensely blessed to make this our home, but it's time to let it go.

Thankfully, Don is a supportive, understanding partner and recognizes that moving is in our family's best interest.  There will be emotionally painful trade-offs, though.  We will all miss seeing his parents, Rachel, Matt, Emily, Omar, and Sophia as often as we do.  Unfortunately, there is no perfect solution for a family so spread out.  We will do our best to stay in touch, as we've done with my family.  Leaving our newfound church family will also be tough.  They have embraced us, and Sarah has blossomed in their loving care.

With all the uncertainty that the future holds, I'm doing my best to have faith that everything will work out the way it's supposed to.  I'm ready for a smaller, less-demanding home, and my mind runs wild with all the possibilities for fun and adventure in New Engl*nd.  For the last 25 years, I've held onto the following quote by Sc*ttish mountaineer W*lliam H*tchinson M*rray:

Until one is committed, there is hesitancy, the chance to draw back.  Concerning all acts of initiative (and creation), there is one elementary truth, the ignorance of which kills countless ideas and splendid plans:  that the moment one definitely commits oneself, then Providence moves too.  All sorts of things occur to help one that would never otherwise have occurred.  A whole stream of events issues from the decision, raising in one's favor all manner of unforeseen incidents and meetings and material assistance, which no man could have dreamed would have come his way.  Whatever you can do, or dream you can do, begin it.  Boldness has genius, power, and magic in it.  Begin it now.

We have begun....

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