I knew that if I could convince her simply to get dressed, she'd be more confident, more upbeat. Like a charm, her new school clothes transformed her into a twirling, giddy, can't-get-to-school-fast-enough kindergartener. How she loves clothes!
Daniel worked from home on Monday so that we could all walk her to school, and so he and I packed Virginia and Jude into the jogging stroller, and we set out on our walk to school. Since it was the first day, I was allowed to walk Ella all the way to her classroom. (Daniel waited outside with Jude and Virginia, who was screaming "Don't leave me, mommy!") Ella was nervous but she was brave, more brave than I; she didn't even tear up. I, on the other hand, had to choke down my tears so that I wouldn't cause her to cry.
After she unloaded her supplies and hung her backpack on a hook, I hugged her and kissed her and told her that I love her. And she wasn't embarrassed a bit. I dread the day when she's embarrassed by me, but I'm bracing myself.
We met Ella at 3:10 to walk her back home, and she was glowing. Her first day was good, though of course scary, confusing, and exhausting. She was really glad that she had "decided" to go. By bedtime, however, she had changed her mind about school and decided that she would rather stay at home. Every night since that first one, Ella has suffered a total and complete meltdown. According to her, school is too long, she is too tired, and she'd just rather be at home with the family. Well, we miss her terribly too, and it's hard to spend so little time with her. I feel like the entire day passes us by before we spend time together, and by the time we do see each other, we are all tired. She is exhausted. Too quickly it's time to start preparing for another day. I'm sure we'll all adjust to the routine . . . or we won't, and I'll go off the deep-end, join some commune, and home school her.
On several occasions, we've asked Ella her thoughts on school. Her answers are so funny, that I want always to remember them. This is school according to Ella:
It's kind of like Vacation Bible School except not as fun and you don't learn as much.
It's just rules, rules, rules, and sitting. We're always sitting. Sitting to read, sitting to play, sitting to eat. I'm getting tired of sitting.
I just get tired of dropping to my knees all of the time. We have to drop to our knees whenever we hear a whistle, then we have to look around for the teacher.
All I learned today was "Open, shut them. Open, shut them. Give a quiet clap. Open, shut them. Open, shut them. Put them in your lap."
I thought you said we were going to learn stuff at school, mom.
Kindergarten is kind of like a big play school. All you do is play, play, play.
I learned that sometimes kids are your friends, and then they're mean to you. And later they are your friends again. I guess that's just how friends are, mom.
I'm sad to report that already Ella is suffering at the hands of mean kids. Two children who sit at her table have taken to making fun of her clothes, her hair, or whatever moves them. She is hurt, but she does not stand up for herself. Ella is lucky: she's compassionate, she's smart, she's beautiful, she's confident (usually), and she's got a family who loves and supports her. She'll figure out how to deal with these challenges. Some kids aren't so fortunate. Those are the kids who will really need someone to stand up for them, and I know that in time Ella will be able to rise to the challenge. In the mean time, she's trying to figure out where she belongs, who she likes, which door leads to the toilet, how to zip up her skirt, etc. Oh, and I forgot to mention that one particular five year old boy has already caught her eye. Walker Lusk, the little fella who lives down the street, has captivated Ella--so much so, that I actually overheard her say to him, "I love you." O dear . . .
2 comments:
Oh my. School sounds horrid. I say keep her home. She's yours and Daniel's, so she'll figure out everything she needs to know just hanging out with you two.
Oh, and I want to smack those kids who are mean to her.
"Bikes," who are you?
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