Today was the day. The first day of kindergarten for my youngest child, my only daughter, my blond curly-headed girl. She was so ready. She wore her new school t-shirt and jeans. We arrived at the school just in time for the opening assembly they have each morning. I escorted her to her teacher and the space her kindergarten class occupies at the back of the Multi-Purpose Room. She didn’t even tell me good-bye.
But that’s because I wouldn’t leave. Oh no. I intended to follow her to the classroom, to hand over a giant stash of Lincoln Logs, to take a picture and to hug her good-bye. Which I did. A group of us kindergarten-parents followed the line of kindergarten students as they followed Mrs. F.
One of the twins in the class was crying. Her mother held her, trying to convince her that Kindergarten Is Fun. My daughter hung up her backpack and hugged me good-bye with such nonchalance I thought she might be thirteen, not six.
I did not shed one tear. I was so happy! So very very happy that she was so okay about going to school. I went home, cleaned the house a little, then went to a store to buy math curriculum for my boys. My husband met me and then I followed him to his office. (I hadn’t been there yet.) Then, on to Kinko’s to make copies and it was already time to pick up my baby girl from school.
The class was following the teachers down the sidewalk like ducklings . . . my daughter saw me and would have crossed the parking lot by herself, but the teacher cautioned her. She said, “Grace had a nice first day!” as she continued on with the other ducklings, heading for the bus. My daughter said, “I want to ride the bus.”
Once inside the van, she was so quiet. She finally said, “I don’t like school.”
After much prying, I believe I know why she said that. She didn’t think it was as fun as she expected, and, even worse, the kindergarteners are not allowed to play on the “big monkeybars” playground. She found this so unfair.
Later, she did tell me that she did not cry, that she was quiet when she was supposed to be quiet and spoke when she was supposed to speak. I only hope that she begins to find kindergarten fun. Please, please, please, Grace, love kindergarten. I’m begging you.
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My freezer gasket is defective. I ordered a replacement, because a few years ago, when I called a repairman it cost a fortune. I thought ordering the part and having someone (cheap!) replace it made sense. Only the cardboard holding the replacement part sat in the living room so long that I suspect my husband accidentally threw it away. So, months later, he ordered a new part, only it wasn’t the right part at all but a tray of some sort. I ordered another replacement part and our friend came to fix it today, only it was the wrong part. Turns out I had ordered the gasket for the refrigerator door rather than the freezer door and I did this because the parts diagram pictures the refrigerator parts on the bottom of the page and the freezer parts on the top but my freezer IN REAL LIFE is on the bottom and I somehow assumed that the picture resembled real life. Sort of.
Oh, and did I mention that on Labor Day, my son came inside to inform me that we had a fountain in our yard springing from the water meter? Yeah, a pipe sprung a leak. How very convenient. But the town employee who came to check it graciously fixed it even though the pipe broke on our side of the meter and was, therefore, our responsibility. (Shhh, that’s our little secret.)
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BIG SHOCK: The teenagers were both awake before 9 a.m., working on their school work. I could not believe it.
. . . and that ends our edition of today’s blog news here at Mel’s house.
2 thoughts on “The first day”
Keep hope alive. Sooner or later something will happen to make up for the monkey bar exile.
My daughter’s school has the same exile policy re: little kids on big playground equipment, which she found to be completely unjust because she was more of a monkey at preschool age than the grade school kids, easily.
Solution: sneaking onto the playground during non-school hours and using the taboo equipment. Worked for us : )