Dash started kindergarten a few weeks ago. The first week passed pretty uneventfully; he was thrilled to make some new friends, fired up to be sharing Petunia's school, psyched to pack a lunch that he ate with his class ... it was all new and exciting and fun.
Then, week 2, he was sick, all week, except for the one day I sent him mid-week to have him return spotted, as though no one had looked at the kid all day. (In fairness, he wasn't spotted when I dropped him off, but it was a little awkward to pick him up and hear him say "Mama look! It's cool! I'm polka-spotted!" Did no one think of calling me, or did they really not see?) The rash necessitated another trip to the doc, and that trip, apparently, begat a night of vomiting and more fevers. So there went week 2 of school.
Now, it's week 3. It's week 3, and Dash really isn't enjoying kindergarten. "I just don't like it very much," he says before getting quiet and frowning all of the way home, where he usually shuts himself in his room for some "lonely time" before re-emerging happy again, usually with a Lego invention. I didn't have this problem with Petunia. Petunia loves school -- she always has loved school, so much so that in her "what do I need to know about you" letter to her fifth grade teacher, she wrote "all you really need to know is that I love school, I never want to miss school, and I look forward to going to school every day."
Since she's home with pneumonia this week, you can imagine the "suck" level in our house right now. In terrorist-threat levels, we're at red, Def-Con1, and "if Mama doesn't get out of the house tonight, God help us all."
It's been a hard couple of weeks.
In any event, I intellectualize pretty much everything, which, at times, is more a curse than a blessing, and I think I have figured out why Dash doesn't have the same love of kindergarten as he did for nursery school. And that's exactly why: it's not nursery school, not his crazy, co-op school where all day, every day, was recess, except for a couple of super-short story times that he could spend in a mom's lap if needed. They didn't sit in chairs around tables and do "centers" except by choice -- a choice Dash rarely made. In fact, I'm pretty sure that I can count on one hand the amount of times that Dash sat at a table when it wasn't snack time. He stood, sometimes, to do a science experiment, but, in kindergarten, you have to sit; standing isn't an option, as Dash tells me, much to his frustration. It appears that my son has never learned to sit down.
The thing is, he behaves exceptionally well; he doesn't hit, push, kick, yell or bite, and he does listen to the teacher's directions. He just gets really sad when asked to do something he doesn't want to do -- like sit down. And sit, they must. First they sit on a rug. Then, they sit in chairs. Then, there is a recess, but then, it's back to sitting, more sitting, then, on some days, sitting for lunch. Kindergarten is not designed for boys like my son, especially on the heels of free-for-all co-op nursery school, where he spent a large part of his day riding bikes, climbing trees, and digging in sand -- and not sitting. The difference between his and Petunia's pre-K experience is striking: Petunia's pre-K had "centers," and there was more structure to it. It remained "play-based," yet had some added "getting ready for school" components. Hers was not wrong. Ultimately, I don't think his was, either: it was right for his needs as a little boy. But I don't think it prepared him for kindergarten. I think it prepares kids well for "young 5's" programs, which are more like Petunia's pre-K. What about the kid who is both mind- and age-ready for kindergarten but needs more transition, though? I guess they end up like my son: "adjusting." He'll come out fine, for he's a strong little kid, and, once he latches on to something at school that he especially likes, he'll be fine. Missing the second week didn't help with that transition process; time will help. But he's learning just how different school is: how nobody notices that you can't open your applesauce, how nobody's automatically there to help you if you fall down, how you're just another kid when you're at "regular" school.
He wasn't just another kid in co-op nursery school; he was loved by a host of adults that weren't me, and, on my workdays (and outside of them), I loved their kids back. Dash's kindergarten teacher is lovely, and so are the other parents, but the same level of loving-kindness isn't there. At preschool, his rash would've been noticed.
I don't feel let-down by his pre-K experience, but I feel like I should've seen this coming. I don't know how I would've dealt with it though; had "sitting drills?" Nah, I don't think so. Perhaps I just would've warned him instead of feeling like I've betrayed him. There's a fine line between the gift of co-op preschool that I gave him and the mistake I made in not preparing him better for this leap to public schooling. I've never regretted a day of Petunia's schooling, but I'm wondering if I've made a wrong choice for Dash. Perhaps I should've angled for the "hippie-dippie" lottery school that's a lot more like his preschool; perhaps I should've tried for the local Montessori. I'm not much of a worrier, so I'll find a way to stop, but in the back of my mind, I fear his being turned-off to school at this young of an age. Fortunately, he's smarter than me, so he'll figure it out, probably before I do. Until then, I'll have to hide the tears I feel coming on with each "I didn't have a good day today." And maybe I'll take him back for lunch to his co-op preschool, just to let him remember that he's still little and well-loved.
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