On kindergarten

My big girl is ready for kindergarten and tomorrow is a big day.

 

It isn't the big day. The first day of school isn't until Wednesday, but tomorrow is almost as big of a deal. It's kindergarten orientation. We get to go to the school as a family, hear a presentation about what the year will be like and then we'll tour her classroom.

 

Overall, I'm excited about tomorrow. This is a big week for our girl. She's stepping out of our cozy nest and into a new learning environment for a major portion of her days to come. She'll make new friends, learn new things in different ways. I know she's ready and I think I am, too, but to be honest, I'm a little nervous about tomorrow.

 

In addition to getting L acquainted with her school surroundings at the orientation, we'll also be meeting her teacher--the woman who will be taking over a small portion of the job I've been doing for my daughter for the last five years.

I am hopeful that all of the teachers at our neighborhood school are wonderful, nurturing, caring, experienced educators and any of them would be great instructors for our L, but I'm still a little worried. I want this teacher to know just what a great kid our L is and how eager she is to learn. I want her to know what I know about L. But how would I begin to tell her?

 

At bedtime tonight, I put my worries aside and talked to L about what an exciting day she has ahead of her tomorrow. As she laid out her outfit, we imagined what her teacher might be like and wondered if any friends will be in her class.

I tucked her under her flowered quilt and told her a story about how I'd been preparing her for this week for her entire life and that I know she's ready for it.

After we said her prayers, she looked up at me and confided: "I feel a little sad. I don't know why, but I feel like I'm going to cry."

She buried her face in my neck and I clutched her head, stroked her hair and tried not to cry, too.

I wanted to tell her that I feel a little sad, too; that I'm going to miss her desperately; that I'm worried her teacher won't be as wonderful as we hope she'll be. But I couldn't say any of that.

Instead, I told her that I know tomorrow is overwhelming, but school isn't always going to feel that way. It will start to feel comfortable very soon and she'll fall in love with it.

It didn't take long and she was giggling again and soon, slumbering.



I'm certain she'll rise tomorrow brimming with nervous enthusiasm for the day. She won't be able to sit still at breakfast, eager for us to load up and head over to the school.

I think I'll be ready then, too. I just don't know how I'm going to be able to sleep tonight.