On "Lasts:" Kindergarten Edition

Last soccer game of the season.

I am not good at lasts.

Last days, specifically.

I suspect that having four children, I will need to toughen up about this, as there will be a lot of "lasts."

Yesterday, after having to reschedule once (cue the working mommy guilt), I was finally able to go to Ellie's class mid-day to read a book in honor of her July 12 birthday, which takes place when school is out. They've banned cupcakes or treats of any kind for celebrations, offering up "come in to read a book to the class" as an alternative. So a few weeks ago we went book shopping (with plans to donate) the aptly titled A Year With Friends to Ms. M's kindergarten class.

As I sat in the teacher's chair, looking down at the sea of cross legged children on the faded "ABCs" carpet, pink cheeked and sweaty and hair rumpled from recess where they'd just emerged, I did my best to breathe in the moment. The last time I would see Ellie and her classmates in kindergarten. The last days of her ever being a kindergartener.


The eve of the last day.


Thank goodness the day before Ellie's last day of kindergarten also coincided with the greatly anticipated School Fair (rescheduled twice due to one of the rainiest Junes on record).

A great time was had by all, for sure. At the end of the day, when Erin asked her about the fair, Ellie's answer was, "I had one hundred percent fun!"

It was a festive distraction  from the melancholy that I assumed was only felt by me (and a welcome chance for Ellie and I to have some rare one-on-one time). Imagine my surprise, when thirty minutes after bedtime last night, I was greeted with a very teary (and most likely way overtired) Ellie.

What's wrong? I asked her, trying to stifle my own emotions. Seeing her so upset had me upset!

I'm never going to see see Ms. M. again! And I'm never going to kindergarten again (Ms. M. is taking a job as a librarian at another school in our town).

I was caught off guard by Ellie's emotions and probably to no one's surprise, found myself getting a little teary myself. We hugged and I rubbed her back and we talked about how she could visit Ms. M and send her a letter over the summer wishing her good luck on her new job. I rubbed Ellie's back for a few minutes longer.

Try to think about the summer, about all the fun you're going to have at camp, I suggested.

"I don't want to think about the summer!" Ellie wailed. More tears.

I paused a minute. Let her be sad, I said to myself. It's OK.



This week much of Ellie's art work and Very Important Papers from the school year came home, including this gem, which I am still swooning over. I believe it to be frame worthy. Oh, what I wouldn't give to have the self-confidence of an almost six year old.

I know I'm a sentimental person by nature, but there is something very precious and bittersweet about kindergarten. They are, after all, still SO little. Most of them start school as five year olds, some of them have never even been to school before (though that's admittedly less common these days). There is still a bit of baby in them, I think. A lot of baby, really. I know they have to grow up. Of course I want Ellie to grow up. But I see those big tough first grade girls at drop off every morning. And I know what's looming: complicated girl friendships, hurt feelings, cliques. Good things too, of course: sleepovers where they stay up talking all night, greater independence, deeper friendships.


Last day of soccer, June 16, 2013

I know, I know. In the fall she's going to first grade one floor away from where she went to kindergarten, she's not going to military school. I'm so proud of this girl, who learned to read (learned to read!), embraced her new school, made a sweet little group of friends and by all accounts, had a fabulous year of kindergarten. In the last year I have seen such a change in her awareness, her empathy, her willingness to help around the house. Much of this is in relation to her younger siblings, whom she adores (two years later I am still waiting for jealousy and I've yet to see it). Her new favorite thing to do is read books to them (they usually toddle off before the first page, but she gets credit for trying).

And if I didn't know that I get to do kindergarten all over again with Harry and Lucy, well, let's just say I'd probably be a much bigger mess than I am today.

And Then Ellie Finished Kindergarten (But Not Really)

I have a bajillion (at least) pictures of Harry and Lucy's intimate, casual birthday soiree that I have yet to edit, so stay tuned for that.

It's been a hectic few days, between the double birthday, a whirlwind visit by the Oregon grandparents and multiple trips to the vet to manage a bit of a health crisis had by our eleven year old golden retriever, Ruby (because, you know, never a dull moment!). Let's just say that involved opening a vet credit card (a first for us-woo-hoo!), a hefty bag of medication and a large box of rubber gloves. In other news, Erin is the best vet technician out there as she gamely agreed to administer all medications (bless her, truly).


In the midst of all of this? Ellie graduated from kindergarten. And of course, wore a crown for the occasion. Because, why not?

Technically, school isn't over yet and won't be for a few more weeks, so she's still a kindergartener. But last Friday morning, we all gathered in the ten thousand degree "multi-purpose room" (see my shiniest forehead ever, above) at her school to watch about sixty, five and six year olds sing such favorites as "Bye, Bye Baby Tooth" and "The ABC Song."

Unlike Leo's kindergarten graduation three years ago, there was no cap wearing or "Pomp and Circumstance" playing (Thank goodness because, A) Seems a bit much for five year olds and B) My delicate, emotional constitution simply can't take it). As it was, there were tears.

But I was pretty good.  I only cried a little.

And Then I Cried

We picked up a couple of extra kids on our recent trip to Oregon. (Just kidding, these belong to some good friends of ours in Portland.)

I'm starting to think every entry here could very well just read something like I went to [fill in the blank] and did [fill in the blank] and then I cried.

Before you lose complete patience with me, I'm not sad. I'm not depressed. It's just--life right now is so very full. And it just feels like it's all going by so dang fast. The littlest, most mundane things (a seemingly dry description of Ellie's kindergarten reading program) feel somehow, poignant.

Last night was Back to School night for Leo and Ellie. Since they are at different schools, Erin and I divided and conquered, with Erin at Leo's school while I went to Ellie's.

I love Ellie to pieces, but I knew Erin got the better deal. (To be fair, Ellie's been at her school all of four weeks and she's on the bottom of the totem pole whereas Leo? He's a big, bad, known entity of a third grader! Look out!)

First of all, any visit to Leo's school is a huge mood lifter/self-esteem booster as a parent. I don't know how we got so lucky with this kid but teachers, therapists, school secretaries, the aides to the aides, nearly all of them seem to love Leo. I'm not fond of the mayor analogy (so many kids with Down syndrome get called the "mayors" of their schools or towns--but hey, those cliches come from somewhere, right?). But I can definitely see how someone would could call Leo a "mayor" of sorts. Of course, this wasn't a parent-teacher conference meant to tell us how Leo was doing but more a way for us to familiarize ourself with his new teacher, class and curriculum.

But lucky for us, people at Leo's school (especially Leo's teacher new Mrs. F) like to talk. And they seem to like to say mostly good things about Leo. So we'll take it.

Photo by Rick Regan

I absolutely adore Mrs. F. She exudes enthusiasm and energy, is no-nonsense, has a great sense of humor and she likes to use the word "Oy." Yes, she had me at "Oy." This year already feels so different than last. Leo's in a true third grade, as opposed to a split. Rather than coming home with homework that requires cutting and pasting, he's reading paragraphs and answering complex comprehension questions. Every night we sign his Homework Planner.

Photo by Rick Regan

Did I mention I almost had a panic attack when I realized Leo only has two more years (after this one) of elementary school?

Photo by Rick Regan

On the Ellie front, I bring her to school every morning but haven't actually stepped foot in her classroom since last June's orientation, so it was fun to sit at her little desk last night and get a peek into her day. It's funny to say, but you get a little spoiled when you have a kid in special ed. There's just so more communication. Emails home, little notes in his folder. Aside from a wave and a passing "Hello" in the morning when I drop her off, I've had no real contact with Ellie's teacher (which, I'm told by my friends who have kids without IEPs, is just pretty much how it goes.) I mean, I'm sure I'll have a bit more meaningful contact, but probably not to the extent that I have with Leo's teachers and therapists.

In any case, I think I now officially know why she is such a blubbering hot mess by 6:20 every night. My oh my, they keep those little people busy. Ninety minutes of language arts? Math Centers? No wonder most nights she actually asks if it's time to "go upstairs."

I was relieved to hear there are "only" twenty kids in her class. I can hardly handle one five year old so I'm still trying to wrap my brain around how one person can even handle twenty, but still, twenty seems far more human than 28-30 (which I've heard of for kindergarten).

And yes, my eyes welled up a little as Ms. M. went over the different reading and math and social studies and science programs. How did we get here? To Kindergarten? Will Lucy and Harry pad into this same classroom in three and a half years? Time just marches and marches on. And then it seems to march on a little faster.

Do They Make Them Run Laps? Kindergarteners Are Tired, Cranky People

I promise to post the next chapter in the Great Trip to Oregon (I know all four of you are on the edge of your seats). But I wanted to jump in quickly and give a little kindergarten progress report.

Ellie brought this home on her first full day of kindergarten (week one was half days, Monday was the first "real" day).

So far, so good.

I wasn't really worried about kindergarten. Ellie is a very outgoing, social kid who seems to thrive on new situations.

One thing I am noticing though, is a new level of crankiness and exhaustion not seen before. Oh she's fine at pick-up and she's about the same in the morning (she's never been a morning person, ahem). It's later in the day that the tired, cranky little monster begins to rear her head. Ellie gave up her afternoon nap years (sob!) ago but there is rest time in kindergarten (it lasts maybe twenty minutes?). And Ellie actually speaks longingly of it. Seems to look forward to it.

By 6 p.m. Ellie is a puddle. A moaning, sighing, groaning shell of her former self. The best solution I've found is to throw her in the bath right after dinner while I'm dealing with the babies. Once they are out of the picture I can focus on her and her many maladies, which seem to go hand in hand with fatigue. A mosquito bite. Chapped lips. I channel my patience. I really do. I'm not always successful, I'll admit it.

We read a few chapters of Junie B. Jones and I rub her back and bite my lip as she moans a little more.

A few nights she complained about being "too tired to sleep" which, I get. I feel that way too sometimes. It's like your body is just keyed up. It's cruel, but it happens. I tried to reason with her, that if she didn't sleep, she would feel even worse in the morning. That she has to get sleep for kindergarten!

"But Mommy! I'm tired before I even walk in the door!" she replied.

Yes, I know that feeling too.

Sunrise, Sunset: Back to School

Aaaaand we're back from the Great Oregon Vacation (otherwise known as Sleep is for the Weak).

And our return means one thing: School.

Leo, first day of third grade

Ye Annual First Day of School Portrait by the Front Tree. Can someone please tell me where these giant children came from?

Walking Ellie to kindergarten (OMG, OMG, Breathe--that's me I'm talking to--she was of course, cool as a cucumber). This photo, blurry as it is, really sums it up for me. It could have been taken from a merry-go-round, which, I'll admit, is sometimes how life feels, spinning and spinning, sometimes (often) a little out of control.

Time, it flies. It just keeps marching on and on and on, ready or not, like it or not.

Ellie, first day of kindergarten

I was a little unprepared for how emotional I felt this morning, when I gave Ellie a hug and a kiss and a squeeze and an "I'm so proud of you, I can't wait to hear about your day!"

After all, I've been dropping her off at "school" for more than four and a half years but this...felt different. This is an entirely new beginning. The door on Ellie's baby and toddler and preschooldom has been slammed shut forever. It's wonderful and inevitable, of course, but it stings a little. The beginning of this new life for Ellie is thrilling but yes, it does leave me humming "Sunrise, Sunset." Because really, where does the time go? I know that I will be turning around in a few years as I drop Harry and Lucy off at kindergarten, asking myself the same damn thing.

This morning I lingered for a few minutes in the school yard after Ellie and I said our goodbyes, careful that she not see me. I wasn't sure what to do. Should I stay and watch her go inside with her class? A lot of the other parents seemed to be staying. Ellie fidgeted with the straps of her supply-laden backpack and peered in the window of one of the classrooms and finally, when I realized I had done everything I needed to do, that this was Ellie's experience to have, I turned around and started toward my bus.

Deep breaths.

***

I leave you with this. A teaser of our amazing, exhilarating, exhausting and altogether wonderful trip to Oregon.

More soon.

And here's hoping your back to school season, whatever that might entail, is off to a good start.