I registered Tucker for kindergarten today. Kindergarten.
Robb and I had talked long and hard about the decision of which school to choose, a decision that is new to parents of our generation. Back in the day, so I'm told, your elementary school was entirely dependent on the map of your city, and only the wealthiest made choices outside the natural option.
Now, there is public, private, charter, open enrollment, homeschool, co-op... the list goes on and on. We had decided weeks ago, for many, many reasons, that we would send our sons to the school around the corner, the one three blocks away. We looked at all our options, and we felt confident in our decision. And I love that we decided together.
Today was the day.
I was a teacher before my kids were born, and I taught kindergarten, specifically. So I confess, I may have entered with a slightly askew list of expectations. Not that my way is the only way, but I did have a brief checklist of items that would meet my approval.
Our new elementary school hit a homerun.
Warm. Open. Inviting. Organized. Colorful. Kids' artwork posted everywhere. Print-rich environment. Registration happened in the Media Center, a room filled not only with stacks and rows of books, but also art sculptures, paintings, couches, and pillows.
Sign me up. Or, rather, sign him up.
I came prepared with the dozens of papers required for this entrance into the world of real deal school. I thought I was all set.
"Ma'am, it looks like we're missing one. We'll need you to fill out just this one more page."
A basic page of info.
"Does the child live in a one-parent household or a two-parent household?"
Oh. Oh, my. I never planned to give this answer.
It's these little shocks that bring me to my knees.
I completed the form.
I registered my son for kindergarten.
It is the first real step we've taken to plan for the next season. The belief that the next season will come.
I didn't want to do this without his dad. In a one-parent household.