Recess

Tags

bandaids, kindergarten, recess

So when the kids got home from school on Tuesday I asked them about their first day of school.  I was particularly interested in what Henry had to say about his first day of kindergarten.  (Especially considering I forgot to put the FM receivers on his hearing aids so that he would actually be able to follow and like, you know, hear, during class.  Have I ever mentioned my brilliance?)

Me:  Henry, did you go outside at school today?

***side note:  often in our kindergarten classes they play outside in an enclosed blactop area…no playground equipment…so they can play kickball or other games like that)***

Henry:  Yes.

Me:  Who did you play with? 

Henry:  No one.  I just stood there.  (Okay, right about there I just needed to hoist my heart back up from my stomach into it’s normal cavity real quick before I continued on with my questioning). 

Sad Me:  Well, what were the other kids doing? 

Henry:  They were playing with all the balls so I didn’t have anything to do.

Sad Me:  Did you ask if you could play with them? 

Henry:  Yes and they didn’t want to.  (Okay, are you trying to kill me Henry?  I now feel totally and completely horrible…)  Henry continued on:  There weren’t enough balls and they didn’t want to share.  (Hooligans, they were.)

Sad Sad Sad Me:  What were all the kids without balls doing?

Henry:  They were just standing there, too.  (So I now have this sad picture in my head of a bunch of 5 year olds, nervous and sad and lonely, moping around for 15 minutes with nothing to do, while the three street-toughs with big red playground balls run around joyfully not sharing.  Yes, I have been known to mingle with drama now and then.) 

The next day he came home with two scraped up knees and a bloody elbow.

Because they played tag at recess today.

He fell down.

He got some booboos.

He cried.

He got bandaids.

He was all better.

In summation, scraped up extremeties + band-aids = a good day in kindergarten.  At least for little boys. 

And also, little boys with band-aids on their knees are really stinkin’ cute.

Fly

Tags

first day of school, kindergarten, learning to fly

Off you go.

And here I stand, hoping that the other parents don’t see the traces of my tears. 

I watch you step onto that big bus.  Watch you look so small.  Too small to go.

I want desperately those days when you were silent…when you were round and soft…when you had red curls falling on your face…when you.were.here.  With me.   

But I know that your little wings are ready to learn to soar.  Every little thing about you is ready. 

Don’t forget to wash your hands before snack.  Don’t forget your manners.  Don’t forget to not pick your nose.

Don’t forget that I’ll be here, waiting for you.  I’ll always be here.

Now fly, little boy. 

Soar.

Worry

Tags

children with disabilities, kindergarten, worry

A mother worries over her children.  And I think when a mother has a child with a disability, she may worry a little more over that particular child than the others.  At least I know I have done that now and then.  Sometimes it is justifiably so, sometimes not.  The past few weeks have been a little bit like that for me.  Kindergarten is starting for Henry, and I, like many mothers of children starting kindergarten, am a fretful mess of tangled up concerns and fear and protectiveness and what-ifs for that little boy. 

And so I worry.  And then something happens to remind me that this little boy is…well…Henry.

Last week, while we were out in the wilderness we went up to the lake to swim.  There were a few other families there, too.  William and Henry were throwing the frisbee in the water, and a couple of little girls came over to join in…girls that we didn’t know.  William bugged outta there pretty quickly.  

But Henry…have I mentioned how charming Henry can be?  Henry played with the girls.  He had the frisbee, and he ran around taunting them with “come on girls, try to get me!”  He held the frisbee out of their reach and laughed his laugh (which totally makes me laugh while I’m writing this).  And the three girls were all running after him, squealing and laughing and trying to get my Henry.  He didn’t know them.  He couldn’t hear them.  But no matter.  He was comfortable.  He was so confident.  He was happy. 

And there it was…the lesson.

I. Will. Worry.

And then I will look up and see Henry.  I will see him make friends.  I will see him be the center of attention.  I will hear his laughter.

 

And I will wonder what on Earth I was worried about.

____________________________________________________