As I sit down to write, the bus has just picked Ella up. I can see it wandering through the next neighborhood from our back windows. I actually feel a tug in my chest when I see it from afar. I feel like a part of me is on the bus, like a limb. I want so badly to be on that bus and experience what she experiences, but now we’ve reached the stage where I can only live through what she chooses to tell me. Since Ella is a rather reserved person, I hear very little. I savor every little glimpse I get into her day.
Every afternoon, we walk in the door and our tradition has already formed. We both plop down on the rug in the entryway and Ella unpacks her backpack. Eager to show me her work, her newest library book and share her little nuggets of her day. We look at her school-issued planner that tells me if she had PE, Art or Music that day. It has additional notes about whether she had PT/OT or Speech, upcoming school events and each day is marked with a color that corresponds with where they ended up on the behavior chart. The last few days have all been “pink” which is the highest – outstanding. She’s also had purple and blue which a are excellent and good. They start at green – ready to learn and move up and down the scale as needed. I’m hoping to not see yellow, orange and definitely not red – parent contact. Eeep!
I’ve actually had several calls from Ella’s teacher. Thankfully, of the good variety. She’ll answer a question I had and then just gush over Ella’s sweet personality and sense of humor. The other day, Ella’s teacher was telling me that Ella was working on a project and suddenly let out a loud “HELP!” in a very odd voice. Her teacher immediately rushed over, thinking something must be wrong. When she asked if Ella was okay, Ella told her she needed some help, but used a funny voice because Mrs. Ciccolella always uses a funny voice when she really wants everyone’s attention, so Ella used a funny voice because she wanted to make sure the teacher paid attention! Then they both laughed and laughed! I couldn’t be more proud that my reserved girl is not only asking for help, but doing it in a remarkable way!
One afternoon as we were sitting in our afterschool meeting on the rug in the entry way, I was asking Ella about lunch. I wasn’t getting a good feel for who she was sitting with, if anyone. I know one day she’d told me she sat by herself. Sometimes I’d heard she sat at the peanut-free table. I was worried she was telling people she had a peanut allergy (which she’s been known to do. According to Ella, she’s also allergic to mirrors.) and thankfully, Ella has no diagnosed allergies. But one day, she told me she sat at the peanut free table (which worries me because she typically has peanut butter), and the lunch monitor asked her if she had PB, Ella told her she’d check, and sure enough, she had a sandwich of death and was kindly asked to move. Then I got worried. I didn’t want to have to start packing an EpiPen in Ella’s lunch and teach her how to administer it to whichever child she inadvertently inflicted peanut butter on. But, after a follow-up call with the teacher, I found out that all was right in the world. Ella was sitting with her class at lunch, and not accidentally sending children into anaphylaxis. So now the teacher and I have been explaining to her that she should sit with her class always, and if she doesn’t happen to have peanut butter in her lunch on a day, that doesn’t mean she needs to go to the peanut-free area. It’s a learning process.
The mornings are still early. The bus is still exhausting, but there are fewer sleeping days than before in the afternoons. Mrs. Ciccolella is “the best teacher in the WORLD!” and Ella is able to make it from the bus to her classroom with a 100% accuracy rate so far. All in all, I think the Kindergarten year is starting out right.
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