Except the kids don't seem to get it. We left school on Friday, trying to keep the last day of preschool low-key, even though Mama was with us for drop-off and pick-up, and the kids went home . . . . to make things for their friends for when they said goodbye later! We tried to gently remind them that they'd said goodbye--which they seemed to realize at the time because they did actually say goodbye to teachers and friends--and marked the uniqueness of the day by having COOKIES for snack--but, well, they're not quite 5 and maybe didn't have the full grasp of the situation.
We let it drop. Mainly because each time we thought about it, we got choked up. Yes, we. Mama, who is not a freestyle crier like I am, did get teary as the kids hugged their teachers goodbye. Of course, as you know, I'd started at the beginning of the week but really did go to boo-hooing when I saw the preschool daily updates which I keep on our chalkboard so Mama could see them when she got home. And it hit me--more than packing their last snack, or writing their last note for this school--that we wouldn't be getting anymore of those photocopied summaries of the day's events. All of which I've kept for two years. Such wonderful things there--visits from firefighters, the zoo, the seaport, the Tooth Fairy, and parents with interests in deep-sea fishing, puppets, Chinese New Year; special birthday celebrations for each child; releasing butterflies and growing beans and harvesting pumpkins; hosting Thanksgiving lunch and Mother's Day tea; plus the "ordinary miracles" of paint and playdough, dress-up and blocks, songs and books, magnets and magnifying glasses, the Pledge and the weather.
Of course, the most important component was only hinted at in the notes: the fabulous, dedicated teachers, who every day didn't just put up with 14 preschoolers but encouraged, guided, supported, and inspired them. And then told me funny or endearing stories about it all at pick-up time. There was the gardener, who would get the children to help her water the school's plants and send them home with growing seeds and spider plant clippings; it was she who Bud sought out almost everyday to create works of art and she who came up with ingenious solutions to his creative problems (like how to make paper plate masks stay on his head--all 13 of them!). There was the artist, who organized and oversaw all the fun activities in the art kitchen, the first place Sis would head almost every morning; this was also the teacher, as I understand it, who read with them everyday. There was the musician, who played all the school's songs on the piano and who sang with them often; I think she is also the one . Lastly, there was Madam Director, whom I cannot easily compress into a few short sentences, and so I will just say that she was their favorite. Even today Sis asked if I could contact her and invite her over to play and I was to tell her that Sis would bake her a chocolate cake (a mutual love of theirs).
But they haven't just been the kids' teachers; they've been mine, too. It's like being born-again academically--I've just started over again in preschool with a clean slate and have to learn my role and follow the rules and figure it all out. Not just parenting a child in school (when do you send hats and gloves? was my healthy snack healthy enough? how many visits are too many?) and being part of a school community (learning all the kids' names, trying to help out on the parents committee, participating in fundraisers), but even just parenting a child in general (like, what should I do about anger? or, how do you handle monsters at night?). And so they answered all sorts of questions, gave suggestions, encouraged, and praised. (And overlooked my parenting shortcomings: unwashed hair, uncut fingernails, breakfast in the car, forgotten mittens, stained t-shirts, backwards clothes, shoes on the wrong feet). I feel like it was my school, in a way, as much as it was Sis and Bud's. There are a few things I wish I'd done better (namely, gotten to know the other parents better and figured out what to do with all the art that comes home), but I guess I can work on that next year.
Sigh, next year. In kindergarten. In a big school that isn't going to send home a daily update. In a school where the ratio is 1:20 not 1:3ish. In a big school where there will be no one to help open snack containers or read notes. Or to tell me what's going on everyday when I show up. That's not to say we don't like our new school (yes, "our": I'm a SAHM, folks, their school is my school--I'll be volunteering there in some capacity for the next 7 years. And I'm probably more of a helicopter parent than I choose to admit). In fact it is our first choice. And visitation last week went well. The principal and staff were enthusiastic; the orientation flowed smoothly, even when the kids left us to go play and hear a story (we sent them in the same group; no sense creating agita in advance--you can't practice being separated). There was a lot of talk about standards and goals and assessments, about reading and homework journals and skipping recess, that all sounded way too much like No Child Left Behind. And not at all like the fun I had in kindergarten. But then kindergarten is the new first grade and the stress is on phonemic awareness and such. Yes, I did learn a lot of buzz words--"responsive classroom" discipline, "tier 3 words," "Pillars of Learning," yada yada yada (thanks for keying me in, Mama Teacher! I'm going to need you next year). Not at all as much fun as art and music and P.E., which of course they'll also have each week (during "specials"). (And I did have a minor panic about their being "behind" in writing in upper and lower case letters, much less that they aren't close to reading. But isn't that why they're going to kindergarten?) We ended the visit by introducing ourselves to everyone (yes, I'm the suck-up parent. It worked for 20+ years in school, why stop now??? And is it really sucking up if I'm sincere?) and buying some spirit gear to get them excited about their new school. We took one picture by the school sign and left.
The kids spoke exuberantly for awhile about the blocks and the story and the drawings they made, and then Bud became upset. "I didn't make any new friends," he worried. "I won't know anyone at my new school." And all Sis could add was "it's bigger than I thought it would be." Reassurances went nowhere. And I'm sure I sounded overly perky about it as I tried hard to assuage (that's a tier 3 word there, folks) their fears. I guess we're going to need this summer to break the bonds with the old school and to prepare to form new ones with the new school. All of us.
But we'd still love to have you come over for chocolate cake, Madam Director.
