Claire's Last Day of Preschool

It's an overcast morning here, but when I dropped Claire off at preschool for the last time this morning, I had my sunglasses ready to go. I've had all the feels this week as we approach Claire's preschool graduation. It's hitting me hard.

I don't know why . . . I've been through this twice before. Someone suggested that it might be because it's my first girl graduating from preschool, and I wanted to punch that person in the face. Sorry - but only kind of sorry -  if it was you. I'm just about done with being polite when people imply that my girls will be my best friends forever while my boys will someday leave me and never give me a second thought. But that's an entirely different post.

I suspect it has something to do with the fact that I won't be sending her to Kindergarten while I still have a toddler and a newborn at home. Even when I was emotional about sending the boys to school, I welcomed one less person needing my attention all day. I think my emotions this week are actually the result of three preschool graduations. I don't think I ever really had the time or emotional space when the boys graduated to feel it all. The last 6 years are catching up with me, I suppose.

Claire's Last Day of Preschool - May 2017

 I also know what comes next. I know that she'll be gone 7 hours a day. I know that we'll have tired, grumpy afternoons 4 out of 5 school days. I know that she'll pick up mysterious phrases and attitudes that she never would have picked up from 2.5 hours of preschool, or here at home. I know that the attachment we have will be a little less. I know that soon she'll stop holding my hand. I know that she will make friends whose parents I don't know. I know that our crazy summer schedule will end about two days before she goes back to school, leaving little time for family vacations. I know that it's harder to miss a day of school once you reach the elementary age. I didn't know all of this when Jack graduated from preschool, and I only knew a little bit of it when Bennett did.

Bennett's Last Day of Preschool - May 2015

Jack's Last Day of Preschool - May 2012

For the next 3 years it'll just be me and Hattie. She'll go to preschool two mornings a week next year, and will probably have a babysitter a couple of days. I'll have to stay up fewer late nights getting my jobs done, because I'll have more available time during the day. So those are all good things.

Hattie will get way more attention during these years than any of her siblings, because there will be no one else fighting for it. That's a good thing, but it leaves me feeling incredibly guilty for not being able to give that to the others. They've all been more than ready for Kindergarten when they graduated from preschool, but I'm still left wondering if I've done enough while I've had them at home.

No more babies at our house.

All week I've been thinking about how I'll never have regular afternoons with Claire again. When I was home, it was just her and I while Hattie napped. I'm feeling all the guilt about the times I sat her in front of the tv so I could be productive. I'm feeling so sad that we won't get to take advantage of empty open skating afternoons anymore or just lay in bed and giggle about the crazy stories she makes up. And let me tell you: She makes up some doozies. At parent-teacher conferences, we were presented with a list of stories she told to her teachers. . . were you aware that I knit her clothes for her before she goes to school each morning? And that her dad found our dog that we thought had died up in the attic of our house? I could go on . . . but I won't.

I remember when Jack was born, having this overwhelming feeling of "How on earth will I be able to give him everything that he deserves?" I don't think that feeling will ever really go away. Sometimes I joke about it, but I really don't want my kids to stop growing or to slow down. So today, I'm going to try and push some of my own sadness aside and be thankful for healthy, thriving kids, doing what they're meant to do: Grow.

My phone just buzzed, reminding me that it's almost time to go sit in that pick up line and wait to see my sweet Claire skip hand-in-hand with her teacher one last time. She's growing up. They all are. Thank you, Jesus.

Cody

Ben's been telling us about his friend Cody since the very first day of school. Every day when I ask him who he played with, he responds, "Cody" and goes into great detail about what they do together.  They play with the fire truck, play with the cars . . . and they play hide and seek.  He says that they play hide and seek quite often, which always makes me laugh because the preschool classroom isn't that big.

It made me feel good.  From the first day of school on, I knew that Ben had made a friend and it was comforting to me.

At Ben's field trip last week, I asked him if Cody was there and he said yes, but couldn't point him out to me.  There were 150 kids/parents there, so I didn't think anything of it. 

Then at Ben's Halloween party on Tuesday, I asked a teacher from his class which child was Cody and she replied, "We don't have a Cody in our class."

So I asked the other teacher and she gave me a puzzled look.

Um, what?

So, I went and asked Ben, "Where's Cody?"  And he just threw his hands up and shrugged.  At this point, I was a little worried that the teachers would think I was crazy.  So, I asked again, "Ben, you tell me every day that you played with Cody.  Is he in your class?"

Ben just kind of smiled and said, "He's at home still asleep."

Ben's friend Cody is 100% imaginary

When I say that Ben has talked about him, I don't mean just once or twice.  When Jack came home from school that day and asked Ben what he did at his Halloween party, he specifically asked what Cody dressed up as . . . because we all know that Cody is Ben's preschool friend.

And to my surprise, Ben replied, "He dressed up as The Flash.  Like me."

I interrupted and said, "Oh, Cody was at the party?  I thought he was still asleep.  WHere was he when you were decorating cookies?" 

"He was sitting right by me at the table," he said  All I could do was laugh.

I know that lots of kids have imaginary friends.  But really?  How many parents go two months without realizing that they're child's friend is imaginary?!

I should add that he does talk about several other children quite a bit . . . and I've now confirmed that they are all real.

The first day

Jack made it through his first day and was excited to go back this morning!  The chaos of drop off and the stress of having a newly potty trained two-year-old really distracted me from being emotional, though when we were back on the road leaving, I did shed a few tears.  But just a few.

The things that broke my heart:

• His little cluster of desks where he sits includes him and three girls.  He asked each of the three girls if they could be friends.  They all said no.
• He really liked recess, but didn't have anyone to play with.

The things that encouraged me:

• He did say that he made one new friend that he really liked.
• He said that everything they did in class was fun.
• He really likes his teacher.
• He ate lunch with a friend from preschool, even though he's in a different class than he is.
• He seemed really excited that he saw Jasmine, Hailey and Samantha at recess.
• He informed us that we no longer need to pack a lunch because THERE IS PIZZA AT SCHOOL!  We informed him that we'll probably still be packing a lunch most days, but maybe once in a while he could get pizza.
• He chose white milk instead of chocolate at snack because he thought it would be healthier choice to only have chocolate once a week (we had previously discussed this with him, but we weren't sure if he'd really do it . . . but he did).
• He LOVED gym class.
• He has a doodle book to draw in during their rest time and that was right up his alley.

I'm sure there were more things that he told us, but I can't remember them all.  He was so funny when he told me that he can't wait until next year so that he can do a first day of school all over again!  I'm just glad to have the first day over with.

I love this kid so much.

Edited to add:  Printable signs now available here.

Enough

I've spent the last few weeks fighting the urge to impart last bits of wisdom to Jack about anything and everything that I can think of.  You know . . . thoughts on making friends, resisting peer pressure and not dating a girl who doesn’t consider modesty a virtue.

You know . . . the real kindergarten essentials.

I know it’s only Kindergarten, but this stage . . . this pre-school stage . . . it’s over.  I never thought that I’d be THAT parent . . . the one that stresses over Kindergarten.  I so badly want my kids to be independent and confident, and I didn't think I'd approach Jack's first year of school fighting the urge to not let him get out of the car tomorrow.

I cannot believe that I’ve been a mom for five years.  I cannot believe that I’m sending a child to Kindergarten.  I cannot believe that one of my children will spend so much time away from me every day.  I’ve found myself reconsidering homeschooling.  I’ve wondered if we should wait a year.


I've spent much of the last two months hoping that we've done enough and getting down on myself for the games of Candyland I said "no" to and the books I didn't read.

I know, I know . . . drama, drama, drama. 

Tonight, I was talking with him about what he was most excited about for tomorrow.  I asked him if he was scared at all.  He replied, "No. But I know there are probably other kids who are."  As we talked about the kids who are nervous (and I suspect he is a little too, but won't admit it), I was struck by his ability to see outside himself.  I love how compassionate and kind he is.

Then it hit me: We did that.  Well, not totally.  Some of it is surely innate.  But Kyle and I are also responsible for who this incredible little boy has become . . . and I think we've done a good job.  Have we done enough?  I don't know.  I do know, however, that the grace of God has filled in where we've fallen short.  We're really good parents.

As I've reflected on all of these things, I became thankful for my job's flexibility that has allowed me to spend so much time with him.  The late nights and early mornings of work suddenly seem like a small price to pay to have been there for so much of his time at home.  I'm thankful for the incredible babysitters we've had to fill in the other times.  I'm thankful for a husband who loves his kids so well and takes as much responsibility with the kids as I do, never just assuming that their care is "my job."

Jack starts Kindergarten tomorrow and Ben starts preschool next week.  My babies are growing up.

Jack's second (and last) year of preschool

We started back to preschool with Jack right where we left off. New teacher and new drop off line, but we kind of got back into the swing of things with no problem.

I haven't had many encounters with his teacher, but I can already tell that I'm going to L-O-V-E her. Jack has great things to say every day and at dinner when we did our best/worst parts of the day tonight he said his best part of the day was school because "my teacher taught us SOOOO much." I love it.

Here are a few pictures of Jack (and Ben) from the first day of school last week. He was so wound up that I finally told him just to SIT DOWN because he wouldn't stand still. And yes, I'm aware that he needs a hair cut.

Oh, and please ignore our nasty-looking front porch.

And this is how Ben felt about Jack leaving for school without him.

It's crazy to think that this will be Ben going off to preschool next year while Jack's at Kinde . . . I can't even say it.

First day of school, 2010:

Last days

Today was the last day of Jack's first year at preschool.

It kind of snuck up on us. I forgot to get a picture of Jack and his teacher. We forget to get Jack's teacher a little "parting gift." We were unable to attend the all-school picnic on Monday. It was a little anticlimactic.

When his teacher brought him out to the car this morning, I could tell that he was trying to hold it together. He got in the car and he wouldn't say goodbye to his teacher, so I asked him what was wrong. He whispered, "I'm really going to miss Jack Slisher." I assured him that he'd see Jack S. almost every Sunday and probably at other times. Then his voice cracked as he said, "I'm going to miss everyone."

I can't even begin to tell you how much like me he was in that moment. I don't think there has been a time in my four years of parenting and I could empathize as well as I could in that moment. I cried at the end of every school year. I didn't handle change well, and I knew that even though I was going back to the exact same school in the fall, everything would be different. I liked things to stay the same. It's only been since college that I've grown to love change.

We pulled into a parking spot to let him buckle up into his car seat. He had his head buried in his hands, so we just sat there quietly for a few minutes. I cried a few sympathy tears and I could see a few rolling down his cheeks, too. Eventually, he sat up and buckled in. On the way home we talked about what he'd do this summer and the sadness was replaced with excitement.

With all of the mud stomping, wrestling, puddle splashing, rough housing, and toy car crashing that comes with having little boys, it was nice to get a glimpse of Jack's tenderheartedness. And it was good to know that he's a little bit like his mom.

School pictures

I'm not into school pictures. Jack's smile in these, however, cracked me up. I had to buy a couple just to remember it.

For a while he had been telling us, "This is my picture smile." It most certainly was.

On school parties

We went to Jack's preschool for their fall party two weeks ago and here is my confession: I'm pretty sure I'm going to hate going to my kids' school parties. Probably as much as the teachers hate the massive disruption that having 20 parents in the classroom brings to their every day routine.

It's crowded and chaotic and well . . . dare I say a little pointless? Not the party . . . the party isn't pointless. But dozens of parents there? Maybe a little bit.

But I will continue to go, because I don't want Jack to be the only kid whose parents don't come; though, unless he needed assistance with his costume, he did his best to pretend we weren't there.

I'm sure there's someone out there who can make an argument as to why it's important for parents to be at classroom parties and I might even be persuaded. But fresh off my first one . . . I'm just not feeling it.

The first days of preschool

Jack's been in preschool for more than two weeks now. I did have to wear sunglasses on the first day we dropped him off . . . to hide the tear-filled eyes.

I have lots of thoughts about preschool, but I won't share them all here. I will say that his first few days were rough . . . he didn't mind being dropped off and seemed excited in the mornings to get there. But when I picked him up, he started crying the minute the car door closed and told me he didn't want to go back. I was totally bewildered. I would ask what he did at school and he'd say, "Nothing." I know that sounds typical of a three-year-old boy, but it's WAY out of character for him. In the summer, if I'd ask what he did that day, I'd get a play by play of every minute.

I guess he was just adjusting, because he's much happier about going now and will talk to me about his day on the way home (or drive is about 25 minutes each way). His teacher is very nice and he seems to really like her, so I'm happy about that.

The night before preschool

Jack starts preschool tomorrow and our conversation at bedtime tonight went something like this:

Jack: School starts tomorrow.

Me: Yes, it does.

Jack: So today's the last day of summer, huh?

Me: Um yeah, I guess so . . . who told you that?

Jack: No one. So, what if there's a 'mergency when I'm at school?

Me: They'll call me and I'll rush right there.

Jack: What if a police officer gives you a ticket?

Me: For what?

Jack: For rushing.

Me: I'll tell him I'm on my way to an emergency.

Jack: Oh. Will you pray for me before I go to school tomorrow?

Me: Sure. And I probably won't stop for the next 15 years or so.