School Daze

I am in a fog. Miss M was up for the day at 4:30.* (If only it were because of school excitement; we think it's molar pain.**)

The first day of school was a mixed bag. Mostly fine. I don't have any qualms about leaving her. It's only 10.5 hours a week, not college. (Considering that this morning at six I was musing to Taxman about boarding pre-schools.) What I am worried about is that loss of one-on-one teaching and its accompanying push to conformity. Being that she's a redhead, though, maybe a tempering of her will to a respectable level would be fine.

I sat on a chair meant for very small behinds along one wall. I watched Miss M gather six mounds of playdough into a big ball. I watched her play at a sand table. I watched as she glued tissue paper squares to a construction paper apple.

And I kept intervening. I told her to share the playdough. I reminded her (three times) to keep the sand in the sandbox, but only after she had already spilled it. Hey, just like at the park, but now with more mess! I prevented her from making glue puddles on the floor. I did think it was awfully brave to have a gluing project on the first day of school, however.

I can't do that. Intervene, I mean. But there are only three teachers. Today there were eight kids; there could be as many as 12 on a given day. Trying to watch the three teachers move the eight kids away from the bikes and scooters and fire truck toys and back into the classroom verged on hysterical. I didn't try to intervene there--I just breathed in and out slowly and thought, "This is a job I am glad I don't have."

The good news is that Miss M seemed to be just fine. She looked for me, but just kind of made eye contact as she was scooting between activities, like building a block tower with one of the teachers and wandering over where another was preparing snack. (Insert snicker here. She's all yours...three mornings a week.) I am hoping that by next week she will not need us to stay. And one of the teachers has already started to "get" her and will be able to deal with her effectively, so I am excited about that.

Tomorrow is Taxman's turn to squeeze his keister into a little pink chair. Enjoy, sweetie!

* Seriously, the only thing that prevented me from selling her to the doorman, who doesn't come on until 7 am, is that in the fuzzy pre-dawn, she sang the alphabet song to her brother, who thinks she is the greatest thing EVER. (Well, second greatest.)
** Alternatively, she is trying to kill us in a very slow, painful, and untraceable way. Update: The morning of September 14th? Five o'clock. $&*%!