kindergarten – The sequel was my favorite

Now it’s your turn to start school. I had two years to prepare for this day, telling myself this time would be easier than when your sister entered those kindergarten doors. I realized this past week that there was a great secret I never realized, it’s harder to send the second child. I thought for sure it would be easier. I had already done this once, so I know what to expect. That’s exactly why it’s so hard – I know what to expect. It’s harder this time because I know just how much I’m going to miss you each and every morning until I see you in the afternoon as we head to dance or soccer. It’s harder because I know your days will get busier and this is only the beginning of just how busy you’ll be.

There’s a toy kitchen that will now sit quietly in your room. For almost every day of your life, I have heard the toy kitchen fridge door open and shut. I have heard your shopping cart wheel up and down the hallway, hauling toy groceries and dolls and random things you decide to stuff in that cart. I have heard your footsteps run up and down that hallway thousands of times.

I thought for sure you would be my baby, the one who would have my undivided while your big sister was away at school. God wrote a different plan and you suddenly became a middle child. You’ve had to share this past year of your life and you didn’t complain once about it. You became a pro big sister over night because you learned from the best. You are a perfect match for your birth order. You march to your own beat because you don’t have the time or interest to wonder what others might think. Your outfits amaze me every day and you wear them with all the confidence a girl could have. I often think to myself that I hope to be like you when I grow up. How can someone so small be so brave and so independent. This independence will serve you well in life. My heart isn’t ready for this change, but you were fist pumping on your way to buy school supplies. I watched you big sister grab your hand at open house and march you down to the kindergarten wing. You smiled a huge smile as she showed you where you hang your backpack and where you sharpen your pencil. You are ready, my sweet girl. You are so ready.

It’s time for me to accept that there’s a long list of things we didn’t yet finish. There’s no more days where time doesn’t matter until next May. I know exactly how hard it is to pack a summer into summer. There’s no more after preschool lunch dates at a place of your choosing. We didn’t have enough days at the pool, and we didn’t master those shoe laces.

Tomorrow morning you’re going to pick out your first day of school outfit and I’m going to try to hold it together at drop off until I get back in my car. You’ve waited for two years for this day, to finally be at school with your big sister, and I have tried not to think about it. The American Girl dolls will sit quietly in your room while you meet new friends. The costumes in the closet will actually stay hung up because you won’t have time to transform into Batman or a fireman multiple times a day.

I am sad for me but so excited for you. You saw the tears fall down my face yesterday when we pulled out of your babysitter’s driveway. You spent six years with her and now it’s time to pass the torch to someone else. You smiled a sympathetic smile at me, because somehow you just understand how hard this is for me. For two years, you’ve asked me to “pack a lunch pail” for you, even on the days we would be home. You’ve wanted nothing more than to go to school like your big sister and tomorrow is the day. We didn’t get it all done as I had hoped we would, but we packed a lot in. You asked me not to “embawass” you tomorrow by taking too many pictures and crying too hard. I promised you I would try not to.

I can’t wait to see what you have to offer the world and what the world has to offer you. Be kind and be brave and be a good friend to those that need it most. And know that I am going to miss you so very much.

And just like that, today is the last day. Nine months ago I was packing her back pack with brand new school supplies, wondering how I was going to send her off to kindergarten. I stood on the playground, tears pouring down my face because I wasn’t ready for this first day of kindergarten – but she was ready. Today I will be standing on the playground, once again with tears, because this precious time went by too quickly. There were a thousand things she absolutely loved about kindergarten, but I know her favorite part (and my favorite part) was you. This week I realized that I never told you “thank you.” I don’t know how a parent can in the way a teacher deserves.

We first met you at open house the week before school started and I immediately knew you would be the type of teacher we would appreciate forever. It was during the first week of school when I started to understand just how amazing you are. While the students lined up for the day, you touched each one on the shoulder as you greeted them. Every single day. You noticed the anxious ones, the sad ones, and the ones who just weren’t acting like themselves. Somehow, already in the first couple of days, you just knew. If a student was having a tough morning, you quietly held her hand and walked her into the school hand-in-hand with you.

I got to know you as I volunteered in the lunch room. You, as well as the other kindergarten teachers, made sure your students were all ready for lunch before you went on your own lunch break, which had already started. You noticed who needed help with their ketchup packets and who forgot a spoon. I got to know you as I “volunteered” in the classroom, which we both know meant I was just a body in the room, you had it all handled. You let me be in there for me, not for you. Your baby would be moving on to middle school this year so you understood how quickly these days would go. You had a classroom of 24 kindergartners and never once did I hear you raise your voice. Never. Once. When you needed their attention, you tapped these chimes that worked like magic. Your class was not an easy one, but you sure made it look that way.

The one morning I forgot to pack a drink in her lunch, you helped her order a milk. You checked on her when she went home sick. You remembered the weekend she had a dance recital. You had 24 students and took the time to really know them. You kept track of their big things and their small things, because as a veteran kindergarten teacher, you know that the small things are the big things. I saw the way you listened, and I mean truly listened, every time your students had something to tell you. They always had so much – and I mean so much – to share with you. I loved the way you valued what they had to say. Maybe they were telling you about a weekend event or maybe they were telling you that “mom” has an “m” in it, either way their faces lit up and you knew what they had to say mattered to them, therefore, it mattered to you. I loved the way you made each and every one of your students feel so special. Being chosen as your helper was the ultimate honor for them. Somehow in the midst of all that you did for them, you also taught them. They learned how to read and they learned how to add. You helped them fall in love with school which is so crucial at the start.

I wish we could take you with us to the next 12 grades. I’ve had the entire school year to try to think of a way to thank you for what you did for those 24 kindergartners this year – and I still don’t have the words.

On the first day I had to hand her to the world, I thank God it was you that I could hand her to. I thank God that you were there for her – and for me – this year.

To all of the teachers in the world who are like you, I wish you knew how grateful parents are for you. We are in awe of what you do. We adore you, respect you, and appreciate you. We are so incredibly grateful for your influence. We don’t tell you enough – we probably don’t tell you ever. You’ll never fully know the impact you made on your families. Thank you for this year. Thank you for being a teacher we will remember forever.

Tag: kindergarten

Now it’s Your Turn

A Thank You to Her Teacher