Just Different

It's not easier, it's just different.

"But I don't want a banana. And I like Captain America fruit snacks better than Alvin and the Chipmunks. Mommy, there's a folder in my backpack for you."

"I know, buddy. I looked at it last night."

"But it's in my backpack again."

"That's because your teachers asked us to send it back on Friday."

"But there's a note in it."

"Right. It's for your teacher."

He left the folder on the counter. He left the banana on the table. He exchanged his fruit snacks for the preferred.

And he left remnants of all his undoings.

Three minutes before we were to leave the house.

I packed that lunchbox for him, for heaven's sake. And I sorted through the folder and the notes and papers therein.

And he undid it all.

New rule: Once your backpack is zipped, no unzipping until you get to school. Unless you are prepared to take responsibility for all that is within and without.

And I don't think you are.

On the upside, I didn't change any diapers this morning, and I didn't have a child climbing in and out of the dishwasher as I filled it after breakfast.

I understand what the parents of school age children have meant all this time:

It doesn't get easier; it's just different.

But what about Second Grade?

There is a true and honest honeymoon that comes with the start of a new school year. I know it well; we are long time acquaintances.

Tucker is hooked on all things kindergarten. I put a happy little note in his lunchbox:

I love you, Tucker. XOXO.

When he brought his lunchbox home, he showed me the note he thought his teacher put in there for him. "Look, Mommy, she loves me."

She does, buddy. And so do I. And to be clear, that's my handwriting. There are some things I'm willing to share the credit for, but it turns out I hold the current status for putting a love note in his lunchbox. ;)

Tucker comes home talking a mile-a-minute. He tells me about his friends, about recess(es), about the numbers he wrote, about who had a good day or a whiny day, and all about what he ate first, second, and last at lunchtime.

At the end of his second day, he said, "I do really like kindergarten. But I'm a little worried about second grade."

"Why, kiddo?"

"I don't think I'll be able to read those signs they have in second grade."

"Well, we don't have to think about that yet. You can settle into kindergarten and do your best, and by the time you're in second grade, I know you'll be ready. But we don't have to worry about it yet."

"But why shouldn't I worry about it? I want to talk about it."

That's so, so, so his daddy. That is quintessential Robb, the attitude that says, "I feel like I have a pretty good handle on where I am right now, but I see something looming ahead that might be a bit of a curve ball. I'd like to know what I can do today to be ready for that milestone."

That's the heart of the man who installed the infant carseat when I was still in my second trimester. Preparation today makes for success tomorrow.

I am raising his son. Well on his way to list making, preparedness, and thorough thinking.

So, we talked about it. Because I loved his dad well, and I learned that sometimes it's just good to talk about things that still might be a few years away.

New Beginnings

Bring it.

May they learn today.
Names, routines, rules,
confidence, security, integrity.

May they grow in wisdom and stature,
in favor among God and men.

Let's do this thing, guys.

The Spectrum of Concerns

Kindergarten parents are a community of their own. And I belong among them.

We have lots of questions. Concerns. We need reassuring, to varying degrees.

When I taught kindergarten, I often said that teaching this particular grade level was 50% teaching the children and 50% building relationships with the parents - with some give and take on either side of those percentages, depending on the day.

It's their child's first exposure to school. It has to begin well. It just has to. If it doesn't, it's really hard to make up for lost time.

This week, I sat among the other parents in Tucker's class. I sat low on one of those teeny tiny chairs - I'd forgotten how small they really are.

I listened to the other parents voice their concerns and questions.

"I know you don't want toys at school, but could she bring her stuffed turtle? She really loves it. It makes her feel safe."

"Can I send trail mix for him to munch on? It's been his best snack since he was little."

"He still naps in the afternoon. Will that be a problem in a full day classroom?"

"Will you be able to put sunscreen on her before their recess?"

These are legitimate questions. And basic conflict management teaches you that any emerging concern is valid.

But as I listened, I couldn't help but notice how different my life is. My worries are different.

"Hi, my name is Tricia. My son Tucker will be in your class. I need to tell you, my husband died very suddenly seven months ago. We're still finding our balance. Tucker does well most of the time, but I wanted to alert you as you begin any learning units on Family. Ours is different... very recently different."

Learning Objectives

He has spent one day at PreK, and Tyler is a pro. He's got it all down.

As I tucked him in tonight, he said, "Mommy, do you know how to read?"

"I do."

He frowned. I think he wanted to be the first one in our house to know how for sure.

"But do you know how to write?"

"I do."

He added a furrowed brow and folded arms.

"Fine. But you definitely don't know how to wait."

These must be the three academic goals of pre-kindergarten: read, write, and wait.

And clearly he intends to excel at all three.

I applaud these intentions.

Self Portraits

Tyler's preschool class created self portraits. Can you find Tyler?

Here he is.

The red yarn is a dead give away.

Also, he depicted himself as a werewolf.

First Homework Assignment

Tucker came home with a half-page assignment description:

In the PreK classroom, we are learning about families.

Please create a Family Crest.

At the top, put your family's name.

One one side, show the foods your family enjoys.

On the other side, show the things your family likes to do together.

At the bottom, display pictures of your family.

A School Project. The wheels in my head began to spin. After all, I'm a (former) scrapbooker. (I say former because I switched to blogging years ago. See? On the plus side, there is much more documentation than I ever would have accomplished with acid free products. On the flip side, Tyler has nearly nothing hardbound in our house to show his arrival and first year in our family. So, you know.) Ultimately, this looked like a scrapbooking task, and I was ready to break out the colored paper, stickers, and of course the pictures.

And as I got to work, Robb said ever-so-casually, "Um, what are you doing? Why are you doing Tucker's homework?"

Gasp. I just became That Mom.

Suddenly, I had flashbacks into my classroom, when students displayed their animal reports and projects. Anyone could clearly distinguish the ones the students had been in charge of, as opposed to, well, the others. One little girl even said, "Well, first my mom found a pattern for a panda online. Then my mom went to Michael's to buy the fabric. Then my mom... then my mom... then my mom..."

My Mom.

See, the thing is, her mom had already finished third grade. I hadn't assigned the project for Mom to repeat it again. It was more so for her eight-year-old daughter.

And yet, suddenly, here I was: shaping my son's artwork to display my skills. Not so much his.

Awesome. That's a fun look in the ol' mirror.

So, we rerouted the plan. I began by inviting Tucker to join me at the table, since that seemed like a great place to start.

After lots of cooperation, cutting, gluing, and teamwork, I present to you: Our Family Crest.

And of course, from the other side of the kitchen table: Tyler's independent project.