Making Space for the Rhythm of School

remembering the grief of kindergarten

A couple weeks ago, the water parks in town were closed already. It was jolting. I expected these to remain open through Labor Day.  Plus, cicadas have been buzzing loudly and darkness has been descending much earlier. The morning grass has been thick with wet dew and the local orchard has opened. And what is with these strange colors I’ve noticed decorating some of our once green trees?  

All things mentioned are signs of fall, of course, but with summer’s heat and humidity in full swing and the calendar still saying mid-August, I haven’t wanted to heed the warning.

Yet here we are. September is on the scene like a steamroller.

Schools have either started this past week or are ready to open their doors for the first day this week.  Our children go back to school on the traditional Tuesday after Labor Day.

In our family, one has a new backpack and new pants. The other has two new dresses and three new skirts.  Both have new shoes and a slew of school supplies. School supplies were ordered online in the most convenient way possible—clicking the link the school sent—and delivered to our door. It’s stressful to chase all over town looking for classic colors in an 8-pack or 12-pack, or a chisel tip dry erase versus a bold tip. Honestly.

When I was shoe shopping for myself for an upcoming wedding, my daughter was with me. When we walked in, she first remarked, “They sure have a lot of shoes here” and then wondered aloud “where the other one was” as she stared at just one shoe on the walls.  I explained we choose the one we like, and they bring us both in the size we need.  And it was in this exchange that I realized the utter innocence in the question: she had only seen me buy shoes from a used children’s clothing store or from department stores where I help myself to stacked boxes.

Score! Her plan? Get a new pair for the first day every year.

Along with the stuff we need, we made it to school for assessments and met their teachers for the year. It was a stormy night, and we arrived at the school to find it in darkness. The principal, teachers, and a handful of families were standing around waiting and hoping for lights to come back on, amid a power outage. So our children have yet to be assessed, but I had conversations with each teacher and wrote up things over the weekend they should know about our children.  We are ready. 

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A few years back, I thought I was ready.  Our oldest was on his way to kindergarten.  I took the day off work, sensing it was somehow monumental.  I wanted to be there to put him on the bus, spend the day making some amazing dessert to have for an after-school snack, and then be at the bus stop nice and early to welcome him home again.  That was my plan.

It was not my plan to sob while walking all the way home with my husband as the bus pulled away.  I took every photo I could think of, hugged him, kissed him, blessed him, and watched him bound up the bus steps eagerly, and then wave to us excitedly out the bus window. I stood there helplessly as that huge yellow bus rolled slowly away and picked up speed.  It was taking my baby away and I didn’t know where it was taking him! 

Okay, I did, in some sense.  To school.  We had been there as a new family to the district.  But who would be there to help him get from the bus to that classroom? To unpack his backpack and find his way in?  What if he got lost or ran away?  He was always such a runner! My tears flowed and flowed as I walked home. I even had another parent from the neighborhood drive by, notice my emotional state, and reassure me he has four kids at the school and they are doing great before speeding off to work, not a care in the world.  

As the day wore on, it was not the fun day I planned. I think I eventually cranked out some lame Rice Krispie bars and spent the day counting the hours until he came home again while resisting every primal urge within me to either call or drive up to school and make sure he was in his classroom okay.  It was an awful first day for me.

All of it took me by surprise because this son of ours had been in an all-day pre-K program.  It was at a local Catholic school in the town we lived in previously.  It was an actual school, too—not a preschool center—but a school. A school that housed preschool through 8^th grade students.  Our son moved through these halls like a pro and went to the lunchroom, the gym, and saw specialists like music teachers and art teachers. He was there all day long, a regular school day. He thrived.  With this as his background, I thought sending him to kindergarten would be a breeze. 

The only difference, near as I can tell, was sending him off on that gigantic yellow bus.  All. By. Himself.

In Pre-K, I could walk him in everyday, help him unpack his backpack, hang his coat, change from boots to shoes, and greet his teacher.  But saying goodbye at a bus stop meant all that was taken away from me and I didn’t have the peace of mind to know if he was really in the next adult’s loving care.  If he had made it to his destination.

It did get easier.  Each day of that first week was a little less teary for me that kindergarten year long ago.  By the time he went to first grade, there were no tears or fears on the first day.  And by the time our daughter started kindergarten, there was just joy and excitement, no tears at all.

Here it comes!

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Here we are now, five years later, and we are ready.  I’m looking forward to the first day.  They need to go back.  We all need the rhythm and routine that school gives.  They need the intellectual and social stimulation. They need friends. Expectations that are not ours. They need to keep growing, soaring, reaching new heights, and being challenged.

Over the summer, they were home four days per week and in a YMCA childcare program three days per week.  It is very good and also very expensive, almost reaching the cost of another mortgage payment for us.  We need the financial break that will come now after paying for childcare three days per week as well as various camps throughout the summer.

On their home days, we didn’t always do a good job as parents mixing up their day and making sure they were outside playing and not just sitting on screens for too many hours. It’s hard. I know we’re not alone and other parents struggle too—knowing how much screen time to give, which screens and apps to allow, when to allow them, etc.  I need to release some of that guilt now and remember that screens are powerfully addictive for all of us, that we played as a family as much as we could, creating many experiences together this summer.

It’s time.  We’re ready.

New stuff for a new year

Holy Spirit, enflame the hearts and minds of our children. Give them a thirst for learning and a thirst for justice as you open their eyes to the inequalities in our city, nation, and world.  May each child entrusted to you find the gift of friendship and acceptance by their peers.  May each be stretched and challenged by their teachers, who are called to this vital work of forming and educating.  Bless the families who rely on schools for stability, for nurturing, for food security, for routine, for childcare, for mental health and wellness, for affirming goodness, and for doing what a family unit alone cannot.  Protect learners and educators from all harm this day as we continually seek your ways and your wisdom, O God.  Amen.