Another year has flown by, and "my first baby" (which is the title she likes to constantly remind me about) is definitely not a baby.
I'm never sure if I'm ready for the next birthday, but six really is a big deal.
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| winter recital, a week after turning 5 |
Currently, Chief is in Kindergarten at our parish school, where she's loving every minute of it. Kindergarten is a vastly different animal than Pre-K, which was more shocking for me than it was for her. For one thing, the Pre-K program is physically in separate (temporary) buildings behind the school, whereas Kindergarten is in a regular classroom. Kindergarteners are allowed to play on the regular playground at recess, rather than the smaller play area reserved for only the Pre-K students. Kindergarteners get to eat their lunch in the cafeteria, rather than in their classrooms. The Kindergarteners are expected to wear the regular uniform, rather than the modified dress code requirements for the Pre-K students. And Kindergarteners have homework! It's just a handful of worksheets which are assigned on a Friday and are due the following Friday, and they are meant to be completed together with the parents' help; but it's "real homework, Mom, just like the big kids!" and that's the most exciting part, for her. Again, all of these changes have been a shock, for me- particularly the level of independence they seem to expect out of Kindergarten students, greatly contrasting last year's constant flurry of notes sent home in her backpack with detailed instructions for what to expect the next day. Don't get me wrong, the teacher is great with communication- I have a copy of her daily schedule, various documents showing the handwriting expectations and general curriculum to be covered throughout the year, and we even get to see photos taken in class at the end of every week. But for the first time ever, if I want a blow-by-blow rundown of her day, I have to get it straight from her, rather than a written summary. That's a huge change from years of daycare daily sheets! For the most part, she either doesn't notice the differences, or else revels in them- like the playground privileges and the fancy new uniform.
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| family Christmas card photo 2018 |
Somewhere along the way on her journey from five-years-old to six, my little girl became a whole new person. She had exhibited some symptoms of a mild social anxiety the past couple of years, and while I've spent many a night Googling and quizzing her doctor and her teachers for evidence and theories, the past few months have shown a radical change in her ability to handle situations that previously would have left her in tears, hyperventilating, or breaking out in hives. I'd like to think I've helped her develop strategies to live in a world that largely doesn't care about her comfort, but I think it's mostly been her own sheer will. Enrolling in a new dance studio is one of the scariest things she's ever done, and she had every right to back out and try a different activity altogether rather than deal with a massive change (a new place, a new teacher, new fellow students, new techniques...) But this little girl loves being on stage more than anything else, and she dug down deep and found the courage to dive right in because she knew the reward would be worth it. (Now maybe she just decided that something like soccer would be even more unknown and scary-different, but either way we went from tears and an overall attitude of defeat to a strength of will and a determination to make it work, with no cajoling from me, just a simple, "Are you sure?") And that's just one example of many throughout the past six months where she has shocked me with her ability to overcome what would have previously been absolutely devastating circumstances and hold her head high. I honestly don't know how she does it! And obviously I'm not going to ask, "Hey, how come you're not having a meltdown about this?" because the worst thing to do is suggest that something should be scary if it's not scaring her. Maybe she internalized my completely amateur coping strategies; maybe she feels comforted by the fact that she *can* collapse into my arms for a good cry if she needs it; or maybe she's just matured to the point where she realizes that if she wants to be in the recital, she has to wear the costume that looks like it might be itchy, so it's best just to try it on without making a big deal about it. Whatever the explanation, I'm incredibly proud of her, and am excited to keep helping her grow.
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| dressed as a 100-year-old lady on the 100th day of school |
Along with this newfound ability to cope with a harsh, scary world has come a bold strength that was always building and has finally broken through. She's never been shy about speaking her mind, and will volunteer opinions whether they are asked for or not. But she's got a new confidence that manifests itself as a sense of independence, a desire and an ability to take care of herself. "I've got this," has been her motto since she first learned to speak- describing a willingness to dress herself, feed herself, climb atop tall furniture herself- but now she's "got" so much more. For example, she heard that her new dance studio holds auditions for their annual Nutcracker, and I had warned her that she may be too young this year. For the first couple of weeks of class, she pestered me for details about the audition process, and practice schedule, and performance details- details I didn't have. I told her I would ask, and that there would probably be a newsletter with all the information. Well, she finally got tired of waiting, so one Monday afternoon before class, she marched up to the receptionist- a woman whom she had never spoken to directly- waited for her to finish speaking to another parent, and then asked clearly and directly, "Excuse me, how old do you have to be to do the Nutcracker?" It turns out she can't audition this year- she needs to be in a higher skill level class- and she accepted the answer with grace. We often joke that she's going to be a lawyer when she grows up, but with that sort of assertiveness, maybe she'll be CEO.
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| first day of Kindergarten |
Every year around her birthday, Mr. Geek and I jokingly ask, "What are we going to do with a [X]-year-old in our house?" and proceed to insist that we don't have the room for a child so big, or that some rule says we can't keep her or something. She likes that joke and has started asking it herself- "What are you going to do with a 6-year-old?" And you know what? The question is less of a joke this year. I'm not sure I'm ready for her to be this old, this mature, this sure of herself. Surely she's going to learn, any day now, that we're just making this up as we go along. From the moment we packed up to leave the hospital, Mr. Geek has been sure that someone would decide we wouldn't be allowed to keep her- that even now someone in a black suit with a clipboard would show up and say, "Sorry, you've failed," and carry her off to parents who know what they're doing. For now, she mostly understands the rules that govern the house and will concede that we know what we're talking about, but someday soon she's going to figure it all out- figure out that we're total amateurs at this parenthood thing, that we're not certified for this, that sometimes we're wrong about things. I hope she forgives us when she figures it out.
How old is your first baby? When do you start to feel like a professional parent, rather than an amateur?
Much love,
The Geeks
