(Congratulations to readers Sarah and Kathryn for winning the cloth diaper thing! Condolences to me for never coming up with a better name for it than "the cloth diaper thing.")
Yesterday, Ike had his one-on-one visit with his new preschool teacher, who was formerly Ezra's preschool teacher. It went supremely well, as soon as I unhooked him from my legs and left the classroom and he stopped meowing like a cat. Five minutes later he was sitting at a little table, getting his first Official Montessori Lesson and loving it. And acting way, way more civilized than the 3-year-old feral tornado I spent all summer with.
While we were there, everyone at the school wanted to know: How's Ezra? How's kindergarten? Does he like it? How's the transition going?
Here are a bunch of the words I used to answer their questions:
Awesome. Amazing. Yes. Totally. Fantastic. Rock star. Great. Perfect.
Noah's transition to kindergarten was...rough. Even though he'd attended preschool at the public elementary school, he seemed utterly unprepared for the shock of all-day kindergarten. He came home every day his first week exhausted and overwhelmed and would beg me not to send him back. I'd say it took him several months to fully settle into the new routine and even longer to get anywhere close to "enjoying" school.
Ezra, on the other hand, is SUPER MAD at Labor Day. Keepin' him from going to school on Monday, like some punk-ass national holiday all full of itself. It's bullshit, man.
It helped, I think, that he attended his preschool full day last year, so he got used to staying through lunch and the afternoon in a more laid-back environment. But I was still concerned about how the Montessori-to-public-school transition would go — Ezra was so, SO excited about kindergarten all summer and I couldn't help but worry his enthusiasm would collapse under the shock of a more structured day and traditional curriculum.
It's only been a week, but so far, so good. So, so, SO GOOD.
When he comes home, his first and only lament is that he STILL doesn't have any homework. When will he get his homework? He was promised his own homework this year, you know. He and Noah sometimes sit together on the bus, sometimes he sits with another kindergartener, either way it's super special and fun, because he's ON THE BUS. His teacher is nice and makes funny faces and they made their own BOOKS and they worked on COMPUTERS and they eat lunch in a special LUNCH PLACE and it's all just so thrilling and exciting.
(But he would really like some homework.)
Granted, he can be a bit of an unreliable narrator — last night we made dinner together (I chopped up celery and green peppers; he ate the celery and green peppers) and he spun a tale of getting in trouble and being sent to the office. He couldn't seem to come up with the reason he got in trouble, and clearly had no idea what happened when one got in trouble and sent to the office. (SPOILER ALERT: THEY CALL YOUR MOM ON THE PHONE. WHICH NOBODY DID.)
Eventually he told me his teacher took him to the office to show him a picture. A picture of...uh...um...celery. Yes. That's it. He got sent to the office and looked at a picture of celery. And then he went back to his classroom the end.
Suuurrre. Okay. You stay out of trouble there, kid.
I asked him if he'd made any new friends and he said yes. Who are your friends, I asked. What are their names?
He rattled off an impressive list of names and then stalled a bit.
"Everybody. All of them. All of the kids there are my friends."
That one, actually, I completely believe.