Day 1: Dumb shepherd, lost sheep. The first day I dropped off my son at kindergarten was the first day I received a lengthy email by end-of-day: Did I know that, upon giving my son a cool high-five in the play yard, he had wistfully followed me out the kindergarten gate and escaped? His panicked teacher searched high and low, only to find her little lamb, separated from his woolly Waldorf flock, in the Big Kids' Bark Box? He must have gotten scared and wondered away, and would I please reiterate to him the importance of staying inside the protective confines of the kinder fence?
Sure. And I'd also be sure to reiterate to his mother that instead of turning left at the end of the classroom ramp, she should hang a sharp right. Maybe I should also let her know that she should not confidently march her son all the way through the kinder gates and down to the Big Bark Box. Perhaps I could encourage her to notice that when all the other children in the area are HUGE, it might not be where she is supposed to leave her son, alone, looking totally confused, on the second day of school. Because when I tried to act like I was an old pro at kindergarten dropoff, I actually framed my son so that his new teacher and new classmates think he's a skittish runaway kid. Great work, Mom.
Day 2: If he shows signs of a concussion... Not 24 hours after his alleged escape, my son managed to flat-back on the classroom ramp. The poor little guy just lost his balance and broke is fall with the back of his noggin. After the initial tears, he was fine. But do you know what happens these days with a minor head injury? Everything! I received a call at work, letting me know that he was fine, but that he had bumped his head. (I did my best to sound not-overreacting-but-not-deadbeat-either.) I got an email home, describing the incident. As well as a paper that afternoon informing me how to look out for signs of a concussion. And a follow-up call, from the school principal. As a teacher, I am intentional about not usurping the valuable time of my own kids' teachers. And yet, one misstep on the kindergarten ramp and my family had warranted two phone calls, an ice pack, an email, and a just-in-case medical form. Sorry, taxpayers, I think I took more than my fair share today.
Day 3: The cool (bad) mom. My husband and I have never been the cool parents. When my son was in preschool, we'd hear things like, "Why don't you put a juice box in my lunch?" "Why don't I ever get goldfish crackers?" "Just one candy, please please pleeeease!" So we were relieved to read that the junk food we reserve for special occasions are not permitted on the Waldorf campus.
But. The day after the Head Incident- and two days after the Playground "Escape"- I pulled a ziploc bag with four chocolate chips out of my son's lunch box. A ziploc bag! What a shameful delight! We know better than to send environmentally unfriendly disposable bags to school. I thought some other parent's child must have not known the rules, and sent their child to school with a ziploc. And that child must have sat next to mine at lunch, and the bag must have accidentally ended up in his box. What a novice Waldorf parent that child must have, what a silly mistake.
My high horse crumpled abruptly to the ground when I checked my email that evening and found- yes, a third email, in as many days, from my son's teacher. "We try to avoid envious feelings toward food..." She had noticed that the trail mix I had sent in my son's lunch contained four chocolate chips, and, to avoid food envy, could I please keep the chocolate at home in the future?
A tiny part of me was indignant: clearly she didn't know that those chocolate chips were 60% cocao, and practically a Whole Food, and a staple in our family's favorite trail mix. But a bigger part of me? Besides being embarrassed at three emails home in three days, a bigger part of me was kinda proud. For the first time in my life, I was guilty of being the Cool Parent! So I kept the little baggie. And we ate chocolate chips that night for dessert.
In only a matter of days, we became the most high-maintenance family in my son's kindergarten. Now that it's out of the way, I'm aiming for a no-news-is-good-news couple of months. Let another new parent make the mistakes.