Of Smiles and Tears, and Wipes

As we once again reach the end of summer and the beginning of a new school year, I'm reliving my take on the start of kindergarten. Originally published on September 9, 2009, when the our lives as school people began.


Amongst the K-3 crowd, the kindergarten parents were easy to spot. Seasoned parents talked to one another on the playground, a reunion for those who had been away for the summer, happy to be back amongst friends and free days. Kindergarten parents huddled. We had cameras, and video cameras, long faces, happy faces and nervous children.

"Josh! Josh! Over here son, look at Daddy, Josh!", yelled Josh's father, running around in his three piece suit, chasing a son who had not strayed from his mother's hand. Not surprisingly, Josh lined up with Mary and Kate for the march into kindergarten, led by their new teacher, Miss Park. There was no goodbye, we assumed we would march in with them, the school did not, and so it was, off they went and there we stood, on the empty playground with the other dazed parents. Jack stayed strong, I immediately crumbled, but out of the view of my newly cast kindergartners. One kind woman stopped, hugged me, and promised they would take very good care of my girls.

We spent the next two hours at a coffee shop where I read not only the Tribune but also the Times. Over two pots of black tea I spontaneously cried at every inopportune moment, but always when the kind waitress appeared; we can only imagine what tragedy she assumed was at the root of my blubbering. Or perhaps, like the nice woman at the book store who wrapped my two "Happy First Day!" surprises, she knew that it was the first day of school and the puffy eyes and red face were the telltale signs of an unstable mother not yet ready to let go.

Thirty minutes before the final bell, I was ready to be back on the playground. Jack insisted on playing this cool. At five minutes he was casually doing a drive by, looking for a parking space where he wouldn't get a ticket. Seriously, we are worried about a ticket? Our children are set to be released from the confines of their first day at grammar school and you are concerned about a parking ticket? When the bell rang we were there, outside the door. The morning bell set off the tears, the afternoon bell made me giddy. And the door opened, Miss Park was one of the first teachers out, and right behind her, two little girls who were excited and exhausted and thrilled to have spent a very wonderful first day in kindergarten.

Kate made a new friend, as did Mary, although Mary had no idea what her new friend's name was. The girls sat together, they sat apart, they read books, sang songs, and found the bathroom without incident. The only problem came at lunch. Packed into their lunch box was a hand wipe, to be used before eating. Kate could not find her wipe, and she would not eat until she did. With only 20 minutes for lunch, the bulk of her time was spent wipe hunting, finally resorting to using Mary's discarded grapefruit scented towelette. She had only made it through half a banana and a small wheel of cheese when the bell rang, leaving edamame, blueberries and a hard cooked egg untouched. This did not sit well; Miss Park told me the scream was so loud and piercing that she thought certainly Kate's small hand had been smashed in between two tables.

This morning the wipe was placed directly on top of the lunch box, in the middle, impossible to miss. The camera was left behind, and Jack went back to work. Mary and Kate love kindergarten, and so do I. Today.

Looking Back With Appreciation

With 34 days left in the school year, 34 days until Mary and Kate symbolically step to second grade, I found the time to sort through the pile of accumulated kindergarten work gathering dust in the dining room. The time was easy, two days at home with a very sick child (our seventh round of ilk this year) allowed me ample hours to comb through the basket of paperwork that I had let sit for almost a year. Nestled amongst the artwork were poems and stories and things quite difficult to read. Mary drew a lovely picture, stamped October 2009, with this caption: SML the FLWR. This morning Mary correctly spelled compute and pollute and schedule in preparation for today's spelling test.

Until the home basket excavation, I had really no idea how far from kindergarten they had moved. Sorting through the accumulation gave me a very good feel for the progress made over the course of the year, and a sense of awe in seeing what my children had accomplished. Handwriting became something I could read without the teacher's help, and artwork grew detailed and more realistic. In the early months faces had eyes, a nose and a mouth; by May they included ears, eyebrows, eyelashes and yes, sometimes wrinkles.

It occurred to me, as I reached the bottom of the basket, that this is teacher appreciation week. More than flowers or chocolates or an apple shaped pendant could ever convey, I am appreciative of the incredible teachers that have brought my girls to this place; amazing people who took them from shapes to multiplication, from simple sounds to words with vowels, and from smiley faces to wrinkled looking mothers. For people who are endlessly patient and know that a child can move from flr to schedule in one year's time, for those who expect the very best from every child, I am so very thankful.

"If you can read this, thank a teacher."

-Anonymous

Half Day, No Way

One year ago when I was hunting for a half day kindergarten program there were none to be found. Having the youngest possible kindergartners to be, ones who had never been to preschool, I worried that a full day at school was going to be too much, too soon. Full day was pushing, making kindergarten more than I thought it was intended to be. Every school we considered was full day, and the experts told me I would regret doing anything less.

They were right. Six hours allowed for reading and writing, math and science, but also music and art, multi cultural studies, P.E. and thankfully, library. Once a week they had drama, there were field trips to the theatre, an edible garden and Chinatown, all of which would be eliminated in a half day class. Kindergarten would become an abbreviated period of basic learning without the enrichment available in a full day.

For some children the negative effect of a half day could be minimized, hours away from school still challenging and educational, but for others the reduction in school time could mean an increase in television time, parents who work two or three jobs left scrambling to find adequate child care in the off hours when their six year old was not welcome at school. In a school district where 86% of families are classified as low income, full day kindergarten helps to level the playing field, allowing everyone to step into first grade assuming a similar base of preparedness. Eliminating these valuable hours only widens the gap, when education should be helping it to close.

It appears the school district now agrees. CPS announced today that they will fund full day kindergarten next year, and reduce elementary class size to 33, rather than the proposed 37. Parents have worked hard to make this happen, we certainly appreciate the district listening.

Leaving the Garden

My vision of the last day of school was much like my vision of the first: excited children, crying and unstable mother, happy teacher and a wonderful sense of accomplishment. Things are not always as I envision, Kate having spent the past two days on the sofa full of fever and ilk. Her last day of kindergarten was Monday, thankfully the day they "stepped up" to first grade. What she will remember is the incredible year where she learned to go to school, and not the dismal ending, which must be the silver lining to a truly dreary and unceremonious finale.

Mary bounded out the door today with her father, full of school day eagerness, clearly not really understanding that this was the last day that they would walk to the corner, find a taxi and make the short trip to school. The idea that tomorrow would be lazy and unhurried, without the dash out the door that we have perfected over nine months, was lost on her.

I've missed them, my two always companions. It's time for picnics and beaches, a break from the routine that took so long to establish. Of course I realize now that I will miss this new order, days spent writing, without the constant humm of children. My afternoon dash to the school, waiting for the final bell with new friends, wonderful moms who I have spent the past year getting to know; certainly tomorrow afternoon some internal bell will sound and for just a moment I'll panic that I am late to retrieve the kindergartners.

Kate was fever free and ready to say good-bye to her friends by afternoon; we were in the classroom when the final bell sounded and the former kindergartners made their final dash to the playground door. Excited children, crying mother, happy teacher and a great sense of accomplishment, just as I suspected it might be.

Thank you for a wonderful year, it's been the perfect beginning to a lifetime of learning.

Parking for Kindergarten

Most nights the parking lot sits empty, teachers, administrators and staff gone hours before. But one night last week the lot was full and we were over $300 closer to full day kindergarten.

CPS budgets for next year allot for only half day kindergarten, two and a half hours, as compared to the almost six hours that my girls now enjoy. And so parents, when threatened with a mini class day, have come together to raise the missing $125,000 needed to provide the necessary classroom time for their incoming kindergartners. There is a direct appeal to parents for a per child contribution, there are in home fund raising events, there will be a rummage sale and there was parking.

The empty parking lot sits just blocks from Wrigley Field. With several home games on the calendar before the July deadline, parents organized to sell parking spaces to wandering fans fool enough to drive to the game. Energetic teachers with hand written signs recruited cars and space by space the lot filled, while the budget gap narrowed.

Assuming similar success for the remaining games the parking effort was expected to bring us over $3,000 dollars closer to the goal. But the gas station across the street also sells space and they didn't like the competition. A phone call to the school district immediately shut down the parking aspirations, for reasons entirely logical and legal I am certain.

The school district, who will not pay for full day kindergarten, is now halting the efforts of the parents to raise funds independently, aided by the gas station across the street. Good schools bring good neighbors and good neighbors support neighborhood businesses. But not this gas station, as if being owned by the Venezuelan government wasn't enough, I'll be driving by Citgo even when the tank is empty.

On a Smaller Scale

As it stands, in the proposed budget for the next year, the state of Illinois plans cut $1.3 billion dollars in funding for education. In Chicago, that means a $368 million dollar cut to the Chicago Public School system. Statewide the jobs of 30,000 teachers will be eliminated, in Chicago 2,700 teachers will be without jobs this September. As proposed by Governor Quinn and itemized by Ron Huberman, CEO of the Chicago Public Schools, the proposed budget is scary and full of big sweeping numbers that sound intimidating and wholly detrimental to the ability of our state to educate our children.

But in the practical sense, what does all this mean? For us, a grim setback to what had promised to be a running start at creating a really great school. Specifically, the loss of 3 teachers with an enrollment increase of 85 children. Principals are left to make decisions as to how best to allocate resources, weighting the lower, and more populated grades, with more teachers, and crowding the older classrooms, at a time when a good educational experience can make a difference in the lifetime learning of the student. Dance with the numbers a bit, separate the Pre-K, add the special education teachers and you are left with more than 30 children per class, including kindergarten.Kindergartens are reduced to half day, two and a half hours to learn and play and grow accustomed to school, a time frame I find impossible to imagine having spent the past year watching two girls blossom in their full day kindergarten class. And my children take this wonderful kindergarten experience and head into a first grade class with more than 35 students.

And the focus shifts, administrators become fund raisers. Parents are asked to contribute, beyond bake sales and walk-a-thons, we are being asked to donate $2,000 per child, for a public education. Our school is a relative bargain, a larger and more established school nearby is considering a $5,000 per child donation. We'll pay, although in principle I find it alarming, but I can't stand on principle when my children's education is being threatened. What becomes then of the roughly 60% of the children at our school who are categorized as low income? And what becomes of the schools in neighborhoods where that number is higher; who contributes at a school where the low income student number hovers near 94%?

Fund raising is difficult to sustain, and only a superficial response to a systemic problem. A knee jerk reaction to some alarming numbers, in essence a loan to keep a school afloat, for one more year.

The Chicago Public School system is currently responsible for the education of 409,972 students, two of which are mine. The numbers do matter, to me, to our family and to the other 409, 970 students and their families. The children matter, and they should matter to to you and to Governor Quinn and to Ron Huberman, but do they?

Appreciative, Then and Now

There are those who subscribe to the commonly held belief that cooks don't bake, and bakers don't cook. I am a believer, and in that I consider myself a decent cook, good not great, it follows then that I don't bake, or at least I shouldn't. But Monday night I was up late, buried in a lemon blueberry bundt cake, elbows deep into a cinnamon crumble coffee cake, chopping pineapple and cutting strawberries, way past my bedtime. Tuesday was the Teacher Appreciation breakfast at school, for reasons unknown I was left in charge of the bakers.

Aside from my want to someday be one of those moms who can whip up cupcakes for the entire class in minutes more than the actual required baking time, I have a genuine affection for teachers, and a need to thank them for choosing to spend their days with my children, exposing themselves to every kind of childhood illness imaginable, understanding just how precious these children are to the parents who dropped them off that morning. Two little girls who like school more each day than they did the day before, their teacher has provided them with a wonderful place to learn and grow, and I believe, without a doubt, the kind of beginning to education necessary to foster lifelong learners. For that I am forever grateful.

Mrs. Unruh scratched on almost every paper I handed in "write more! write more!". She kept me after school, as I remember, every day for talking out of turn; she was challenging, tall, and sometimes scary, and she encouraged me to do what I loved. Mrs. Grow, tired of hearing me yell out "gadzooks" every time I needed an expletive, suggested I create a dictionary of my own words. Mrs. Willingham, in all her sing song glory, taught me to recite poetry and to remember to always send a written note. And Mrs. Chamberlin patiently showed me book after book, imploring me to explore behind the cover, to read things on the other side of the library, and to discover characters beyond Ramona, Encyclopedia Brown and Henry Huggins. Maybe the best way to thank the teachers is to remember them, even when you are old, and to know just how greatly they impacted the person you became.

The lemon bundt cake was beautiful, perfectly shaped and covered in a pretty yellow glaze. The crumb cake was brown, spotty, lumpy and reminiscent of what I assume an underground sewer eruption might look like, at the street level. Confidently I sliced a piece of the lovely bundt, it was gooey, a beautiful yellow mess, a molten like somewhat raw cake, probably not edible, at least not safely. The hideous eruption was wonderful, moist and unsightly, tasty and not full of food borne illnesses. But of course I knew, as Mrs. Chamberlin taught me, you can't judge a book by it's cover.

37? Not Our Choice

There were so many of them, Moms, a few Dads, many with children. They packed into the library last week, Friday being decision day, looking for something to tell them that this was right, this was the place. From the back of the room I watched, and listened to the very convincing presentation from the principal, the principal who really wants his school to be the best that it can be. I had heard it all before, just a year ago I was touring, listening, hoping and making the decision. And now the decision is made, so I sit back and listen, impressed with what I hear, and so happy to only be eavesdropping.

Of course if given the opportunity I am happy to share with anyone who cares to listen just how wonderful I think this school is, and how encouraged I am with what I see happening every day. A principal whose door is open, almost always; a teacher who asks the right questions, and is always ready for the onslaught of hugs she gets before the morning march into class; involved and interesting parents, and an diverse student body full of children eager to learn all lead me to believe that we made the right choice, even if it was made five days before school started. Mary and Kate's lifetime of education is off to a great start, and that is what I really wanted in a kindergarten, a place for them to be safe and to learn that school is a wonderful place full opportunity.

It is possible that the Chicago Public School system doesn't agree; threats to drastically cut the budget mean that we could quite likely see classrooms bulging with 37 students. Teachers could be reassigned, music teachers posing as kindergarten teachers, in the name of seniority. Gifted programs, varsity sports, bilingual education, and full day kindergarten are all at risk. And the real insanity is that parents are being asked to make choices for next year without the full benefit of information; the deadline for school registration was Friday, April 16th, and the budget has yet to be released for next year.

It appears that my volunteer librarian gig is safe, unlikely that the new budget will allow for an actual paid librarian to take over the job I love. The responsibility falls to the parents, to paint and shelve and read and raise money to protect the things we find basic and offer the chance to continue to dream of things we hope to someday have. The big schools have committees, the small schools have raffles, and auctions and parents who work hard to keep libraries open and science labs possible.

Too Much Too Soon

We were ill prepared, all four of us. And having skipped nursery school, completely new to all matters of school, save the years Jack and I put in thirty years ago. Falling into the routine was effortless, navigating the rough waters of a public school a bit trickier. As I have believed since the day they were born, I am here to hold their hands but the path is theirs to follow. And then Friday night, as I sat at dinner with dear friends, imploring them to contact the principal at the school where their six year old son is assigned three hours of homework each night, I realized that this is also my battle. My message, that you are the advocates for your own child, was not lost on me, it was time for me to see that something be done.

The struggle is this, just how far do I push? Which should not be a struggle at all, the cues taken from my daughter who curls up in my lap at the end of the day and says "they are teasing me again", and she cries.

It started a few months into school, with nothing said to me until one of her friends stood up to the teaser and found herself in time out. The story was then told, in bits and pieces from both girls, that for some time Mary had been the target of truly unkind words every single day from one of the boys in their class.

Immediately I emailed the teacher who was not aware, but not terribly surprised. She talked to the parents, I talked to the parents, and the situation improved, somewhat. Over thinking, but not wanting to create a bigger issue than necessary, we talked to Mary about options, all kinds of things she could say and do to diffuse the situation but in the end she chose to simply say "I don't like it when you tease me", and he backed off.

Last week I found out that he had started again, and this time with a partner. Not making fun of the little pony tail she wears in her hair or her shoes or manner of speech, they chose to go after one of the things most dear to her, her friends. Specifically, her choice to be friends with a boy, a boy they call stinky, and the chant she now hears everyday, "Mary has a boyfriend!" over and over.

She's five, full of spirit and love, with an openness that allows her to befriend anyone, a mindset lost by most in years to come, but one that should not be sacrificed in kindergarten. She has chosen her friend, and we are very proud of her. And she's not alone; we were not prepared but we are in this together, the four of us.

How much will I push? I can't even imagine.

Que?

The first week the backpacks came home relatively empty, a form to complete, a note from the teacher but academically they were barren. But this is week two and there is homework, a small green folder each day full of letters and sounds and stories. Today's topics, the letter M and words that are single letters. After covering I and A, I asked if they could think of any other letters that could be used as words.

Kate: L
Me: L? How would you use L in a sentence?
Kate: Me gusta el perro.

Of course.

Tired Cranky People

By the third day I had discovered the true genius of kindergarten; exhaust them such that when they are sent home the parents no longer recognize them. What returns at the end of a long day of colors and letters and multi cultural studies is a cranky and loopy version of what was sent off just that morning. Gone is the happy and excited face, in it's place I find wandering eyes, sneers and furrowed brows.

As a reminder to myself, familiarity breeds scowling. Certainly most of their happy face quota is used for new teachers and friends, reserving only the real face of weary for the mothers and fathers who pick them up at the end of each very busy day. For two little girls who bicker incessantly, a day without bicker must be a day without sunshine, and their teacher tells me she hears very little of the old lady quibble that defines their communication. There is little to no screaming, pushing or badgering, they get along with each other as well as the new friends.

It must be draining. They've been perfecting these methods of exchange for five years, and now, suddenly, they are asked to communicate as quasi adults? Interacting with others in a mature five year old manner? To save all that familiar banter for the end of the day?

Fine, I'll take it. This great scheme is not working, I still miss them, bring on the childish banter, familiarity breeds happiness as well.

Hablas Espanol?

The nice principal approached me on the playground, hesitantly.

Nice Principal: Um...well, do you speak Spanish?
Me: Well, let's see, yes, a bit, I can communicate, get around in Mexico certainly. We try to speak with the girls, I think language is so important, a second language, so very important.

As explanation, our school does not currently offer foreign language instruction, one of the negatives. At our initial meeting, I stressed how important this was to us and how interested I would be in helping to bring that to the school. Perhaps he was recruiting me, now continuing...

Nice Principal: So let's see then,you speak some Spanish...
Me: Certainly, some Spanish. I studied in both high school and college, and my family has been going to Mexico for years. My mother played Spanish tapes for me, and music, plenty of music. We took the girls a few years ago, we all did just fine, in fact the girls are just close to passing their parents (awkward and uncomfortable smile brought on by rambling).
Nice Principal: So you would not say that you are a native speaker?
Me, my fair skinned, blue eyed self: Oh no, not native, but would love to be! (more awkward smiling, a thumbs up gesture here would have been appropriately goofy).
Nice Principal: Well the ESL teacher caught something, you noted that the girls speak Spanish in your paperwork, she asked me if that was correct, it was the name really, that was the catch.
Me: Right, the name (I have no idea what he is talking about).
Nice Principal: So now they have to be tested, by the ESL teacher, their English skills, I'm sure they will do fine.

Originally I registered the girls at a dual language school and the Spanish speaking office assistant suggested I note on their registration that they speak some Spanish. When we transferred to the new school the paperwork came with us and now my children, with the Irish surname, must have their English skills assessed by CPS.

Mary decided to greet the Principal this morning with an hola! Jack's mother suggested that they fall into their finely tuned Mary Poppins voices while being tested. Their first school test, English, perfect.