First Day Jitters
Tomorrow, Patoot starts first grade. FIRST GRADE.
I'll just let that marinate in your brains for a moment.
...
Ready? Let's soldier on.
I seriously do not know how this happened. How one minute she was the newborn I barely got to hold before they rushed her off to the NICU, and now she's being rushed away from me again. Elementary school is still light years away from high school or, dare I even think it, college - but it's the beginning. The first step in a kid's race to grow up.
The thing is, while it's obvious I'm not ready for her to grow up, I'm not entirely sure how ready she is either.
Patoot has always been...well let's just say, Strong Willed. Opinionated, as it were. But lately she has been behaving more like an unholy cross between a two year old and a ticked-off, angsty teen. Esposo chalked it up to our failures at discipline, I chalked it up to Back to School nerves. Growing pains. We are probably both right, but this morning I found out just how right I actually might be.
I was driving her to our friend's house for the day - since Patoot starts school after the Esposo, we've been juggling her child care schedule like WHOA. Anyway, as we drove she complained of being bored. So I asked her to tell me her thoughts on starting first grade tomorrow. Here is a sampling of her sudden stream-of-conciousness response...
"The kids make fun of me because I'm the shortest one in class."
"In the upstairs classrooms [where she will be] they keep a desk in the hall for kids who don't listen. My teacher got mad at me last year for not listening. I'm afraid of being put out in the hall."
"The kids make fun of my hair - I'm the only one with hair like mine."
"Sometimes FRENEMY [child's name changed to protect the...somewhat innoncent] is nice to me, and sometimes she's mean to me."
"I don't know how to read. I'm never going to learn how."
And so on. And so forth. A torrent of 6-year old stress that she's most-likely been keeping under wraps for most of the summer. I tried to remain placid and optimistic, shelling advice and assuring her that it doesn't matter WHAT size you are, and HELLO you do know how to read some things and, also? Your hair is gorgeous, kid. Like, seriously.
But not only did our little chat make my heart break with worry for her - it also stirred up a lot of awful childhood memories of my own. I had a really rough time in elementary school, the bullies were plentiful and pretty ruthless. But it didn't get super-bad until around the 4th or 5th grade. I had foolishly thought she'd have a few more years of innocence, but of course kids do everything sooner these days.
On the one hand, I'd like to trail Patoot around and verbally knock out any kid who messes with her. But obviously, I can't do that. It would be embarrassing for her, and also it would be creepy and wrong of me - plus it's also potentially illegal for a grown-woman to verbally assault 6 and 7 year olds.
The one thing I can do is let her know on no uncertain terms that if anyone is bothering her it is MORE than okay to tell someone. The teacher, me, her friends. Someone. I never complained once in school, no matter what terrible thing that psychopath John McClure or The Tall Girl With The Braid Whose Name I've Clearly Repressed did to me. Never told the teachers, never even told my parents. "Bully Awareness" was a lot different back in Olden Times, sure. But who knows. I could have really helped my situation if I hadn't been so afraid to speak up.
So I'll be damn sure to let Patoot know it's okay to stand up for herself.
Somehow, I hope it won't be too much of a stretch for her.
I'll just let that marinate in your brains for a moment.
...
Ready? Let's soldier on.
I seriously do not know how this happened. How one minute she was the newborn I barely got to hold before they rushed her off to the NICU, and now she's being rushed away from me again. Elementary school is still light years away from high school or, dare I even think it, college - but it's the beginning. The first step in a kid's race to grow up.
The thing is, while it's obvious I'm not ready for her to grow up, I'm not entirely sure how ready she is either.
Patoot has always been...well let's just say, Strong Willed. Opinionated, as it were. But lately she has been behaving more like an unholy cross between a two year old and a ticked-off, angsty teen. Esposo chalked it up to our failures at discipline, I chalked it up to Back to School nerves. Growing pains. We are probably both right, but this morning I found out just how right I actually might be.
I was driving her to our friend's house for the day - since Patoot starts school after the Esposo, we've been juggling her child care schedule like WHOA. Anyway, as we drove she complained of being bored. So I asked her to tell me her thoughts on starting first grade tomorrow. Here is a sampling of her sudden stream-of-conciousness response...
"The kids make fun of me because I'm the shortest one in class."
"In the upstairs classrooms [where she will be] they keep a desk in the hall for kids who don't listen. My teacher got mad at me last year for not listening. I'm afraid of being put out in the hall."
"The kids make fun of my hair - I'm the only one with hair like mine."
"Sometimes FRENEMY [child's name changed to protect the...somewhat innoncent] is nice to me, and sometimes she's mean to me."
"I don't know how to read. I'm never going to learn how."
And so on. And so forth. A torrent of 6-year old stress that she's most-likely been keeping under wraps for most of the summer. I tried to remain placid and optimistic, shelling advice and assuring her that it doesn't matter WHAT size you are, and HELLO you do know how to read some things and, also? Your hair is gorgeous, kid. Like, seriously.
But not only did our little chat make my heart break with worry for her - it also stirred up a lot of awful childhood memories of my own. I had a really rough time in elementary school, the bullies were plentiful and pretty ruthless. But it didn't get super-bad until around the 4th or 5th grade. I had foolishly thought she'd have a few more years of innocence, but of course kids do everything sooner these days.
On the one hand, I'd like to trail Patoot around and verbally knock out any kid who messes with her. But obviously, I can't do that. It would be embarrassing for her, and also it would be creepy and wrong of me - plus it's also potentially illegal for a grown-woman to verbally assault 6 and 7 year olds.
The one thing I can do is let her know on no uncertain terms that if anyone is bothering her it is MORE than okay to tell someone. The teacher, me, her friends. Someone. I never complained once in school, no matter what terrible thing that psychopath John McClure or The Tall Girl With The Braid Whose Name I've Clearly Repressed did to me. Never told the teachers, never even told my parents. "Bully Awareness" was a lot different back in Olden Times, sure. But who knows. I could have really helped my situation if I hadn't been so afraid to speak up.
So I'll be damn sure to let Patoot know it's okay to stand up for herself.
Somehow, I hope it won't be too much of a stretch for her.