In the midst of this decision-making process (my process – I have to take the time to get comfortable with whatever way I go), I sent Sammy on a test run of sorts by placing him in the summer program that the preschool offered. He spent 3 weeks in the same environment he’d be walking into come fall, with the same teachers and everything. When they told me they’d love to have him in their class (going so far as to suggest they’d manipulate the class rosters as much as they could), that’s when I knew this would be a good place for Sammy.
Which brings us to September. Actually, we went to meet the teacher day at the end of August, which was a whirlwind of here’s your classroom, here’s your coat hook, here’s your shelf, here’s where you sign in, and here’s an enormous packet of information to terrify your parents. This was when I learned I’d be responsible for the class snack every 12 days, which need to be of the healthy variety (wheatgrass juice?), avoid strawberries due to allergies (and possibly peanuts as a general rule, I assume, although I wasn’t told specifically), and oh yeah, please 12 5 year olds. I am screwed.
The first day was last Tuesday. Sammy ate his favorite breakfast, brushed his teeth, combed his hair (er, had his hair combed, lest he look like a deranged Chewbacca), and stood mostly still for the requisite pictures. Grandma and Grandpa came along for the inaugural ride. He marched into that school like he owned it, and pretty much didn’t give any of us a second thought once we passed the classroom door. I prompted (gently, with a hint of mommy-begging) him for a hug goodbye, which I was granted as an aside before going back to his puzzle, and he was off. Of course, I crumbled like an over-baked cookie. And also of course, that would have happened regardless of Sammy’s reaction to his new class.
And so has gone the first week. The idea of school isn’t completely new to him, since he’s been in some sort of class for the past 2 years. But it feels different, at least for me. This is every day, for the longest duration yet, and there are scheduled events and plans and parent groups, and it feels real. To me. And carpool lines. No more bus (I admit, this one hurts, as I got used to having him picked up and returned and to the charming Mr. Gene). He gets into the car every afternoon, and gets barraged with my bullet-like questions about his day, which he answers most of the time, so I’m learning quickly that my little man is quite the Casanova (he favors playing with the 3 little girls over the 8 other boys as of right now, or at least he talks about them the most). He universally tells me that he loves his teachers, which allows me to exhale. I can’t wait to find out more as the days go on. I’m extraordinarily excited about this week’s welcome brunch so I can meet other parents (apparently this is the only way to do so, darn HIPAA laws), and I’m plotting what to make so I can impress with deliciousness (suggestions welcome). I’m looking forward to being that involved parent, and it seems like that will be welcomed. But I’m mostly jazzed that my son is happy, and that we did the right thing for him. I truly believe this will help him be the best kindergartener he can be.
That’s not to say we don’t have our work cut out for us. Sammy’s got a ways to go learning to follow directions and answer questions, and he’s got a big challenge to work on his writing skills (the teacher already suggested we work on his fine motor skills, and we’re on it, Teach). And this is why I’m so glad he is where he is: he has the time to learn these things, to get comfortable with the ideas and concepts and techniques, before they’re required. With any luck, he won’t have to run to keep up with the other kids next year. He’ll be off and running on his own.
It’s going to be a great year. Now if I can just keep Sabrina from declaring herself a student…
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