Celebrating the end of the first week of kindergarten!
After I wrote my post about Cavanaugh starting kindergarten last week, I thought maybe I didn’t explain what I was so worried about. Maybe I’m crazy, or overprotective, or making stuff up. But I wasn’t. I am not. Kindergarten is hard, for my son, for me, for lots of people.
On day one, he was holding a special rock, one that makes him feel “powerful,” so that he could be brave in this new place, so that all the people and the new routines and waking up in the dark to go to school super early would all feel less daunting. I’m saying it’s a special rock because it can make all those things okay. He pulled it out of his pocket and it did its job, so he felt safe enough to lose track of it–on his lap or the table or wherever– and it fell to the floor. Another student found it and called out to the teacher, who took it and lay it aside for someone to claim. Cavanaugh reported on the way home that the teacher thought it was her special rock and took it, that he tried to ask for it back but she didn’t hear him because it was too loud. My kid is quiet though. He could have said it when she was standing right next to him and she might not have heard him. When I emailed that night, she said she had it, she encouraged me to encourage my son to speak up. I do. I have. But how about looking around when you find the special rock, asking if someone lost it, not making a 5 1/2 year old in a new place speak out in front of a bunch of people he doesn’t know?
Day two started in assembly, hundreds of kids packed into the cafeteria saying the pledge of allegiance to the U.S. flag, then turning to the other side of the room to pledge to the Texas flag, then another pledge to the school. He hadn’t been taught any of them, not the words, not what the words mean. We hadn’t been informed he would be saying the pledge. And they don’t take roll till 7:45 so he shouldn’t be required to start his day in a crowd with big noise, not my son who so much likes to be in that they had to make a second cut in my uterus during the c-section to deliver him from my pre-eclamptic body, whose startle reflex is so strong that the whoosh of the hospital door on its soft hinge would shake him like someone had jumped out in the dark and shouted, “BOO!” After school, I stood waiting to get him and his class came out and sat down, his teacher was releasing students to their parents, and Cavanaugh wasn’t there. When I asked where he was, she was surprised he was missing, my quiet kid who couldn’t ask for his special rock back the day before. He had gotten lost in the hallway with hundreds of children, walked the wrong direction as he followed a girl from his class going to after-care bus rather than the class kids who get picked up by parents.
Day three he was in tears when his dad picked him up, afraid he would be lost again. His teacher was holding his hand. He was right up front waiting for a parent. And he was still terrified.
Day four, he threw up forty-five minutes into the school day, down his legs, into his shoes and socks. The nurse called me but I didn’t recognize the number. I was on the other line with my friend whose son started kindergarten at the same elementary school. He had gotten lost from his class the day before. The nurse called back minutes later and I took the call because two calls in short succession from a number I don’t recognize mean I better pick it up. I was at the school in five minutes to bring Cavanaugh home. Oh, and I programmed the school’s number into my phone.
Day five, Cavanaugh was in tears at pick up again, trying to run to me when he walked out the door but his teacher wanted him to follow the class to their pick up spot so he can learn the rules.
Day six, the lights weren’t working in the classroom bathroom so Cavanaugh had to go in the dark with the door cracked open enough that he could see the toilet, but not so much that the whole class could see him going to the bathroom.
Day seven, the teacher had a doctor’s appointment so there was a sub for most of the day. Cavanaugh was the line leader into the cafeteria but he was so terrified he’d led everyone to the wrong place, and he couldn’t recognize the new teacher’s face, that he didn’t open his lunch box. My friend was there for lunch with her son and saw my son in distress and helped. But no one from the school had noticed he wasn’t okay.
This is what I was worried about. He has cried every day. He is having nightmares. When I’ve gone to the school for meetings or today to have lunch with him, he is reaching out to stroke my hand. He is putting his head against my chest. He is seeking reassurance. He is not okay.
Yesterday, the vice principal got the lights fixed. Today, the counselor took him on a tour of the school so he’ll know how to find his way from everywhere. The teacher made him an ambassador (read: helper) who led the line into the cafeteria. He came home on day two saying, “I already made one friend. I think his name is Joaquin.” Today at lunch, he reported that he thinks he’s about to make a second friend. He colored around his name in art class. This week, he was practicing writing letters, saying, “I am amazing. I am double amazing” as he did it. And for every day that I mentioned a hard thing happening, I could also be writing good things. They are there. I’m just not feeling them.
I know Cavanaugh hasn’t been in daycare or preschool. Most of the other kids have though. They learned how to listen to a teacher and follow the class and stand in line and even say the pledge before now. But not my kid. He was home with me. He was in an in-home Montessori Mother’s Day Out with four other kids, because he was shy, because his parents were getting divorced, because he needed to ease in. Now I feel like I’ve thrown him in the deep end of the pool. And I can call the teacher and the counselor and the principals. I can join the PTA and go to parent volunteer meetings. I can advocate and listen and help him get what he needs. From the school’s responses so far, I believe they’re here to help him and me. But this beginning part, this entering the system with its rules and its automated recordings about vaccinations and attendance is making me anxious. Cavanaugh is not the only one crying every day.
I want him to be able to go the public school in our neighborhood, and not just because it’s what I can afford. I want to know the parents and families in my neighborhood. I want all the good things that public school offers. We’re getting some of them, but there are so many of the bad things too that it’s just not balancing out. So, bring on the good things. We’re ready for more good things. What I want is for kindergarten to feel like a whole world opening, the beginning Margaret Atwood describes here.
Posted on September 6th, 2012 in 
Yikes – sounds like you’re really working hard right now. It also sounds like you’re doing everything right, muddling through and adjusting together – only you and Cavanaugh will know what’s really really right for you both as the school year goes on. It’s relieving to hear that the school is being there for you, too. I can only give you comfort in that I know a few people who had rough starts with their kids in school, for whom things really settled into a comfortable groove by mid-year. Sending you and your little man big big love and comforts.
xoxox
Thanks! The school has been incredibly responsive and I feel lucky to be there. I expected we’d have some rough patches to weather. It’s getting me involved at the school very quickly and letting Cavanaugh know that his parents are going to help him with whatever he needs. He can trust that if something’s not working, we’ll help him to make it work. Luckily, the school is showing him they’ll help him too!
Hugs! To you and Cavanaugh!!!! I hope clarity and ease come to you both soon.
Thank you! They’re coming, faster than it looked like they might, thank goodness.
My daughter is almost 4 and started a 5 days a week preschool on Tuesday. When I picked her up the first day, she immediately began a narrative about one of her toys who also started school that day. She said he was sad and lonely because he didn’t know anybody. Then she said “but I’ll get used to it.” My heart just about broke right there in the car.
Oh Vicki, I totally feel you. It’s incredible that she can give her feelings a voice through her toy. Maybe another toy can say, “How can we meet new friends? Maybe we could ask them….” I hope it’s going better for you both!
I just read your post about Cavanaugh’s kindergarten trials and my reaction is very emotional. I want you to pull him out immediately! Now, I realize you said there were positives you weren’t focusing on, but I hated to hear you two were in such distress. I don’t think you should both have to cry every day!
It sounds like Katie is the polar opposite your son socially, so I am going to describe our first couple weeks of kindergarten for some perspective. I feel like we lucked out and this is working for us. I urge you to keep in mind their differences, however. Public kindergarten in Austin where they still say the pledge of allegiance (WOW), may not be the place for Cavanaugh.
Katie has been in school now for 15 days. She proudly tells anyone who asks her about kindergarten that she has been there for 15, 14, 13 days, as the case may be. It started the night before the big day with an open house where Katie got to meet her teacher and see her classroom. The classroom was bright and full and the teacher was warm and loving. She got down on her knees to great every new student. Katie was enchanted which led her to make the comment I posted on Facebook, “Mom, every time you say my teacher’s name, I just smile.” Katie was such a wild ball of uncontainable excitement that night that she didn’t go to sleep until after 10 PM. She laid out her outfit 5 or 6 different times and instructed me on my role in the morning. She told me I was not to walk her to the classroom; I was to just drop her off at the school door without getting out of my car. (The amount of parental rejection this kid has been putting me through is quite painful, but that is a whole other story and I try not to make any of that her problem.) In fact, she wanted to ride the bus. Being the uncool mom that I am, I refused to let her ride the bus on day one, but I did make a compromise about the classroom. We agreed that we would go early so I could park right outside the door closest to her class. I told her she could walk inside by herself, locate her class and make sure her teacher was there, as long as she came back out and waved at me so I would know she was okay. This worked except that she was supposed to line up at a different door. We are now veterans of this line conformity thing. After that day she began taking the bus and we now argue about whether or not I am allowed to wait at the bus stop or not. We live in a “safe” neighborhood and I think about how far I walked to school when I was her age and I feel overprotective. But then, it is a different world now and what does a “safe” neighborhood mean these days? Aren’t those the neighborhoods kids disappear from? After all, I’m talking about a 5 year old here! Anyway, we have again found a happy medium. If I go outside and cross the street, I can see her all the way down the block to the bus stop. You should see her joy! She flies down the steps of the bus, makes a sharp right and comes running towards me, all pumping legs, missing teeth grin and too big purple backpack! This is what I wanted kindergarten to give her. I wanted her to feel success. I wanted her to be ready for big steps, take them and be joyous.
So there are some knocks along the road too. That first day, I was driving in the area and I couldn’t help but drive past the school. As I passed the first entrance, I saw her teacher in the back by the playground field! I couldn’t resist turning into the second entrance to stalk! I saw Katie and her whole class but they weren’t playing. From the teacher’s body language, it looked like she was trying to get them all to stay in line before she released them onto the field. I left crying at the conformity of society beginning to force itself on my daughter. I am glad however, that I didn’t get arrested!
Last time she ran home in glee, some boys behind her yelled in a mocking tone, “OH Mommy! OH Mommy!” She glanced back and kept going, still grinning. And a girl named Amber told her she smelled bad. She didn’t seem fazed really. She told me because she was super proud that she didn’t even answer back. She told me she doesn’t even talk to people like that. Well, then, I like it. I am pretty sure I would have been convinced I stunk if someone said that to me in kindergarten! Some boys at lunch one day were spitting carrots at her and told her she danced like a chicken. I guess she’s not in Montessori anymore, and she is going to have to hang with kids who have no idea what a peace flower is!
She has had a year and a half of Montessori preschool 5 days a week before this and when you last posted your debate about where to send Cavanaugh, I don’t think I realized you were talking about kindergarten. Our family can’t afford to send Katie to Montessori kindergarten and I really wanted to be a part of this community. I wanted her to have friends in the neighborhood she grew up in. This has begun; she has a play date scheduled with a girl who is walking distance away!
Much of my dilemma about sending her to public school was academic. Katie reads, and I don’t mean she reads CAT and HAT. I was an early reader myself and I was nowhere near her level at 5. It is kind of freaky scary. She is currently reading Charlotte’s Web. So, I starting calling the principal and emailing the gifted and talented coordinator at her school on day one. I have some really deep personal wounds from my elementary experience and it is hard for me to deal with this issue. Everything I heard from my friends only increases my anxiety. Kindergarten is all about learning to read. The schools don’t have much funding for gifted and talented programs and they don’t start identifying these kids until at least second grade. You can get your kindergartner labeled as gifted and talented by having a private IQ test done but this is $1600 to $2500! Once labeled apparently, the schools have to accommodate. Anyway, the principal blew some smoke up my butt. She told me that she would make sure Katie had all the resources she needs but couldn’t tell me how she was going to do that, especially when there are 30, yes 30 kids in Katie’s class! The gifted and talented coordinator seemed like an idiot. She agreed to assess Katie and Katie told me that one day a lady came and took her to an office to find out what she knew. She said she made the lady laugh with how smart she was. So, I’m glad Katie enjoyed it, but I haven’t heard anything from the coordinator. She has emailed me a couple questions that she could have answered by looking at her own records, like who her teacher is….
The teacher on the other hand, is fantastic. She emailed me and told me that she had 4 kids in her class last year who read 2 to 3 levels above grade and she taught them as a group by themselves. She said she was comfortable and willing to borrow curriculum all the way up to the 5th grade if Katie needed it. And this was all I needed to hear. Katie lucked out. She got a warm, experienced teacher and I am super grateful. I goes back to the point that it is really about the teachers and our communication with them, beyond anything else.
There are other frustrations, the waiting in line, the disappointments of broken materials and computers. Katie waited anxiously for her first computer lab day only to get a broken computer and then, once a new one was found for her to work on, only to discover that the whole lesson was simply to learn how to put your name and password in…. No, she is not being made to relearn the alphabet but she is still subjected to a group pace that is a lesson in tedium for her. She has been bitterly disappointed twice when she didn’t get to share on her share day because the class was behind…
But I knew this academic frustration would probably happen and I made the choice to give her the social stability instead. I made a gamble that the best thing for her would be to put her in a situation that was close to home, where she could build social confidence. I wanted her to be surrounded by a nest she could fly from. So far, this is working.
It sounds like Katie and Cavanaugh are polar opposites, but will both face challenges because that’s what being in the world means. Many of my friends here are sending their kids to this incredible Montessori school. Hearing about the peace chair and the peace rose and learning how to use I-messages and refocus forms instead of time-outs or rewards and punishments and wonder if I should find some way to pay for that kind of educational experience. I’m almost certain that by middle and high school, Cavanaugh will have a much more alternative education.
Right now though I see so many benefits to public school. It means that I will have to advocate and participate a lot. That’s okay. It also affords me the opportunity to get back on my feet financially after my divorce, to have time to work, to get to miss Cavanaugh. There’s a part of me that wishes I could be the kind of mom who is able to be on 24/7 with her kids and in the world, but I’m not. I need breaks for my sanity, the kind of breaks a seven-hour school day provides. We can learn all sorts of things at home, work on computers, read, etc. but he is getting something at school I can’t provide: immersion into regular society, not folks who share most of our values and who do many things like we do them. He will learn how to stand in lines, jump through hoops, decide whether or not to say the pledge.
You know Zoe what it looks like to grow up as alternative as we both did. Entering college meant that all of a sudden I was in the world with people who were so far from my experience and belief systems that I felt like an alien. I didn’t know how to do things like match shoes and belts and purses or even tuck in my shirt. I knew about philosophy and I-messages and world religions, animal rights, and global warming, and nonviolence. But I sure didn’t know how to fit in. I felt that handicap at school, in the workplace, and in general society. I don’t want Cavanaugh to feel that way.
It sounds like Katie is incredibly resilient when it comes to the social stuff. I hope that she can keep not caring what other kids say, but it’s wonderful to hear that you’ve got her back. You’re watching her walk to the bus stop (it is totally not the world we grew up in and sending a five year old down the block by themselves is more dangerous now) so she can be alone and not alone. You’re talking to the teacher and the principal and GT coordinator. Some people will be idiots. Some will be perfectly fine but just not a good fit. That was the thing about Cavanaugh’s first kindergarten teacher. I liked her. She was nice, knowledgeable and experienced, but she wasn’t the right teacher for my son. Walking into the counselor’s office, calling the principal, and emailing the teacher or anyone else I need to and saying, “This is what’s happening and it’s not working. How can we make it work?” is my job as his mom and I’m totally happy to do it. It sounds like you are too!
I hope things work out for Katie. Cavanaugh’s doing much better in the new classroom, though we still have some challenges to deal with. That’s life.
There are other ways to find/build relationships with the people in your neighborhood. Maybe he just needs you…
Pledge to the Flag, Pledge to Texas and another to the school? That’s eerie.
The pledging felt a little crazy. My main objection is that I don’t want him to be indoctrinated. If he’s saying something and he knows what he’s saying, what it means, and why one would say it, then he can make a choice, but if he just goes into a room and repeats what everyone else is saying, that doesn’t feel okay.
Yeah, it doesn’t feel okay because it isn’t.
This blog entry was painful to read. Really painful. Not just because of the school stuff. Because he needs your hugs. Is there no way you can join some homeschool groups and keep him home? Maybe he just needs you.
Wishing you both peace,
Kelly
We’re both feeling a lot more peaceful. Thank you so much for the kind wishes. He’s definitely getting plenty of hugs, kisses, and cuddling.
I hear your concern and felt the same. I really thought about pulling him out of school after the first week and a half, but I had to remind myself I don’t want to homeschool or keep him home. It’s not what’s best for our family, though I know it works for a lot of people and it might be something we’d consider when he’s older.
Right now, I can hug him, talk to him about our values, follow his interests, and otherwise support and teach him in the time we’re together outside of school. He’s at school because of what I can’t do for him. I want him to navigate in the world without me. I want him to learn to be in groups of people, to stand in line, to be able to advocate for himself when I’m not there. What school gives him is a social education, not with a specialized segment of the population who shares many of our values, interests, and ways of communicating–as we have had in our AP community and would have with homeschooling–but with whatever kids he comes across.
He knows he can get help from me whenever he needs it, but I want him to learn he can get help from other people too. He’s learning it! He loves his new teacher. He glows when he sees the counselor in the hallway. He knows all the women in the front office. And he feels proud of himself because he’s doing something that doesn’t come naturally and that requires some bravery and experimentation.
Of course, I will continue to make sure he’s okay and serve as back-up, as I did when I asked the counselor to give him a tour of the school so he wouldn’t worry about being lost, or when we requested that he get a new teacher, or when he wasn’t sure how to communicate with a boy in his class. I’m volunteering at the school and in his classroom, am a member of the PTA, and go have lunch with him at least a week. It’s wonderful to see his confidence growing and see how he’s navigating this new place. It’s not always good, but he absolutely has me whether he’s with me all day or not.
Hope you and the family are well,
Sonya
With all due respect Sonya, school is not even remotely the real world. I understand you are choosing this for him. I understand you need time away from him. I am thrilled to read the later entries where he is doing better – fantastic. But don’t for one single minute allow yourself to believe that “school” is more real world than home, family or community. It’s not.
That’s not a real reason and I really think you know that. And, no, he doesn’t have you when he’s not with you. He has other people. Which is fine and OK but it’s not you.
Again, so happy things are better. But don’t tell yourself stories…from reading your writing over the years, talking to you and meeting you… I *know* that’s not a good direction for you. <3 I think you do too.
In Peace & Liberty,
Kelly
Thanks for your concern Kelly.
I don’t mean to say that school is more real world, just that it offers him a part of the world that he doesn’t get at home, with family, or even in our community. School is not a group of hand-picked folks or self-directed activities. Being in school requires skills that being at home just doesn’t, at least not on the same scale. I want that for him.
I don’t believe he needs me 24/7. He can be at school, with his dad, or out in the world and still have me. He has my love, our very secure attachment, and all of our experiences from which to draw. It’s true, I’m not there. I can’t fix everything, mediate, witness. What I get to do instead is hear his experience, share his world, and give him the freedom to be out there without me, then come back in to check in, get support, etc.
It’s true that I can get caught with those voices in my head spinning big stories, but that’s just not what’s happening here. In some ways, discussing schooling philosophies feels like politics or religion. We just don’t believe the same thing. It’s okay. I respect your right to believe in and practice whatever you’d like, but I don’t choose the same thing. That’s not telling myself a story. It’s living my life from my core values, as you live your life from yours. It won’t always be smooth, but neither is any path.
Love and light,
Sonya
Hi,
just wanted to say that my son started kindergarten on September 6th like yours and your story is so similar to ours! My son is softly spoken and had many similar events to what your son experienced. The school wasn’t very good at putting kids on the right school bus so he and other kids ended up in wrong places and the school’s response to that was to blame the kids for being on the wrong bus. But we are coping, like you are, and it’s a painful experience. Just wanted to share that you guys are not the only ones and that we can really empathize.
Gabriela
Gabriela, I can’t imagine how worried and angry you must have been. It feels like school is getting better all the time but I kept thinking I was going to have to pull him out and homeschool or find a private school or anything, just anything so he wouldn’t have to go there anymore. I am so thankful that the school has been responsive to my concerns. I can’t believe your son’s school had the audacity to blame the kids. I sure hope they’ve figure it out. I’m so sorry it’s being hard.