Billie started kindergarten last week.
Two weeks ago, everyone I know: “BV’s gonna walk in like a boss!”
This week, everyone I know: “Yeah it’s always more challenging with the second child because you expect them to adapt more quickly and also they cling to being the younger one and struggle against the inevitable tides of time and change. It’s only to be expected.”
Cool, thanks for the heads up y’all.
First clue: Total meltdown the night before school started. I mean absolute. Clearly she’s been repressing her feelings for a long time. Can’t imagine where she picked that up.
Day one (Wednesday): Pretty good! She shed a tear when we left and we did notice the class was heavily weighted with boys (”bit of a sausage-fest” as Sash said, only not quite so politely) and also almost every other kid seemed to already know the Spanish alphabet song (ruh-roh) but she seemed to take it in stride.
Day two (Thursday): Meltdown over uniform. Also something about the cafeteria. Despite my efforts to talk her out of it (i.e. so gross) gave her money for lunch along with clear instructions for making sure she gets the main part of the meal due to prior experience with Mila who in kindergarten often reported leaving the line with only carrot sticks and a bread roll (again, where’s the oversight?). After school Billie reported having pineapple and carrot sticks for lunch. So that worked.
Day three (Friyay): Things looking up! Late start and looming weekend big help.
Weekend: Return to our blissfully learning-free life and forget all about this school nonsense, which must have been a bad dream.
Day four (Monday): Things fall apart. At approximately 6:53am after putting on and violently taking off all four uniform-compliant skirt options Billie stomps down the hall and climbs into a laundry basket, pulls blankets over her head, and proceeds to scream, cry, and rage for a solid 45 minutes. Covers everything from hating uniform to having no friends. Repeatedly. Also reeeeally hates me for making her go. (Obvs.) I try (not necessarily in this order) empathizing, sympathizing, active listening, bribing, threatening, cajoling, man-handling - wash, rinse, and repeat, punctuated with lots of attempted hugs which were thwarted with varying degrees of animosity. Also try really really hard not to lose my temper or start crying. (Never a given.) Finally at approximately 7:38 put Billie’s clothes, shoes, and a bottle of mouthwash into a bag, pick her up and load her into the car in her underwear telling her in the least bitchy voice I can manage, “You can either decide to get dressed or you can go to school in your underwear,” definitely setting her up for some therapy and/or substance abuse later in life. So feeling really good about that.
She decided to get dressed.
That evening my friend Elizabeth, who’s the bouncer at our drop-off gate, texted me and said, “How’s Billie doing?”
I told her. She replied, “Yeah, she looked a little shell-shocked this morning!”
Educational journey off to excellent start. Really winning at this parenting thing. I should have had like five more kids - I’m doing so well with these two.
(Note: Billie apologized when I picked her up that day, so hopefully I didn’t emotionally scar her too badly. Perhaps only few therapy sessions and socially acceptable wine habit?)
