Kindergarten is the modern world's dunk tank into cold, hard reality. One day, you're sleeping 'til you're done, eating a lazy breakfast, and getting dressed when the mood strikes. The next day you're ripping yourself out of bed, being blinded by the rise of curtains and shovelling down food in an attempt to provide sustenance before the bell rings.
I'm sure it's been tough for E, too.
After three hard weeks I've come to a startling conclusion: September kind of sucks. I had notions of sliding into a gloriously well-oiled routine after a summer of lackadaisical free-for-alls. Clothes would be chosen the night before. Bedtime would be easier (since she'd be tired from all that learnin'). Then we'd have a happy skip to school before she faced another exciting day of mind expansion.
That fantasy played out for the first few days. Then sometime in the middle of week two, E woke up and asked me how much longer she'd have to go to school. At first, I thought the truth would be a hard blow but then I remembered she has no concept of time. I also realized that no matter what I said, it wouldn't be the answer she wanted, which was likely something along the lines of, "just a few more days, babe."
In the last few weeks she's gone from excited to tired to annoyed. Now we're at just plain pissy. And I'm here thinking, good gravy this is going to be a long 13 years. Luckily, I know people who've been around the schoolyard a few times. I'm told everyone's you-know-what hits the fan near the end of September. The kids have caught on that this school business is an actual thing and it isn't going away. Apparently, they lose their will to fight after Thanksgiving (the Canadian one).
(I'm sure there are exceptions. We all know those people whose social media feeds have us believing they've found the key to the perfect family life. No one yells, their kids do the dishes and everyone plays Jenga together on Friday nights.)
It also doesn't help that E is convinced I'm the one who made school start at eight in the morning. What kind of crazy fool does she take me for? In a fit of irrationality, I tried to introduce reason to our conversation.
"How could I possibly be responsible for forcing hundreds of kids to be at school that early? More importantly, why would I ever do that??" I suppose I should be flattered by the reach she assumes of my power, although also concerned that she thinks I'm capable of such lunacy.
When her anger first started to rise, I wondered whether something bothersome was going on at school. Unfortunately getting pertinent information out of a five-year-old is like trying to get shoes on a two-year-old. Both are incredible frustrating activities that usually result in footwear being thrown across the room.
Then I found this list of great questions. At first I tried ones like, "did anyone do anything nice for you" and "who made you smile" but another thing about five-year-olds is that they have no concept of gratitude. I was asking these idyllic questions of the same child who, a week prior, cried over the future absence of ice cream while she was still eating the ice cream.
Last night, I took a different approach:
Who did you sit beside?
If someone in your class could be the teacher, who would you want it to be?
What's the hardest rule to follow?
Little by little, I'm shedding light on the mysteries that unfold behind those closed doors. In this respect, I'm happy Alberta has bucked the trend of subsidized daycare and kept kindergarten at a half-day. It gives us a bit more time to prepare for that day when they go off on their own, forget we exist, and only call when they need money or advice about how to do laundry.
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