Another first day

Today was Bubba's first day of his second year of preschool. As most of you know, he attends the Early Childhood Program through the school district. Most of you also know that I am NOT pleased with this program and, in general, despise any and all associated with it. However, God forbid anyone come back on me to try and say I did not try to give my baby the best start in his education possible, so, I grit my teeth and grin through the idiocrity (yeah, it's a word in the Kama dictionary) and take him. It all started with a request for him to get help with his speech, considering he was two and had yet to speak more than mama and dada as words. He was approved for speech therapy in the home and did amazing. Then, he turned three and had to be retested. Somewhere along the way in that testing, it showed he was so far behind in his educational goals (apparently three year olds need to read, write, multiply, and recite Dickinson prose. Ok, maybe not that much, but there were "concerns". *eye roll*). As a mother, my first meeting with the school to go over the test results was truly a horrible one and has left a lasting impression. To be told by someone who has never met your baby that he "needs a lot of work" and will "probably always need special education", you tend to feel a bit bitter towards the program and its *cough, cough* director. But, I gritted my teeth and grinned through it, though I really wanted to claw the bitch's eyes out for even thinking my baby's name. And, I signed him up.

And, I gotta say, his speech improved drastically, though I credit his awesome speech therapist for that work. The rest? His colors and his shapes and his numbers? I am not sure how much I can credit the school. These are things I worked with him on religiously. The school always seemed surprised at out meetings at how well and how fast he was learning his letters and numbers. They were shocked that, before the shape routine was introduced, he already knew seven of them. This is when I realized they weren't really doing much for him. But, he seemed to enjoy the social interaction with his friends at school, so I kept him there. It wouldn't hurt for him to be with others, after all, and if he happened to learn a new color or how to write his name (haha), all the better. He went all summer and has had the last month off. He has had the same teacher all year.


Until now.

Let me explain a little something about my Bubba. He doesn't like change.

At.

All.

This characteristic of his can be challenging, but is manageable. I introduce things slowly. Show it to him, and then deal with the "I hate that, I don't want to do that, I am not doing that" statements made in between growls. Pull the change back for a while and then introduce it again. It takes several attempts at me introducing change and pulling back again before it's accepted without an explosion of emotions that are difficult for me to overlook and exhausting for Bubba to go through. I don't like to set him up for failure, so we use this technique anytime a change will happen in his life and it works for us.

And then . . . then, I got a letter in the mail from the Early Childhood program. "Brady has a new teacher this year!" it read. I groaned inwardly. This was going to be difficult. Brady loved Miss Julie, his teacher from last year and this summer. LOVED her. In fact, whenever I mentioned school starting up for him soon, he would smile widely and ask "Miss Juwie? Me wuf Miss Juwie!" And now, the school went and changed things up on me.

I began by casually mentioning he was going to have a new teacher this year, like big brother, Bryce.

"No. Me hate new teeshure. Me wuf Juwie." *sigh* I waited a few days before mentioning it again.

"Oh, Bubba, you get to go to big boy school again and you get to have a new teacher this year, just like Brycie! Her name will be Miss Sellars!"

"No. Me hate Miss Sewars. Me hate new teeshure. Me want Miss Juwie." *sigh* And so it went, every couple of days, me mentioning his new teacher, him telling me he hated her. Last week, I asked him not to use the word hate.

"It's a pretty strong word, Bubbs. And I don't think you really hate her. She might cry if you say that." This got him thinking. He paused, put his finger on his chin as he so often does when he pretends to be deep in thought and replied, "Me hate dat teetshure. Me want Miss Juwie." Argh.

This morning was met with much trepidation. I was worried about how he would react. Would there be hitting and kicking or just spitting today? I was dreading leaving him. Bubba has this cry that . . . absolutely breaks my heart. It shatters me when I hear it and I can only do what I can as fast as I can to make his world a better place. His big green eyes well with huge tears that drop slowly down his face and his soulful moaning completely tears at my soul.

Yeah, he has me wrapped around his little finger and he knows it. And I know it. But that cry . . . I can't resist that cry. It's against every fiber of the mother code in me.

And I was waiting for that cry this morning. Prepared to rescue him, yell at the school that it was all their fault my baby was mourning Miss Julie, who was right next door, and whisk him dramatically out of the room.

We all know I *can* be dramatic.

But, Bubba surprised the heck out of me this morning. When we entered the classroom, there was only one other student in there with her mama. I snapped a few pictures of the Bubbs playing and then waited with him for his teacher, who was waiting for the school bussed kids outside, to come into the room. I didn't say one word about having a new teacher. We played with a shape puzzle and I reviewed his numbers to ten with him on the hopscotch drawing on the floor. Finally, his teacher came in, hurriedly introducing herself and the other students, who all knew each other from last year and the summer, and got everyone situated with an activity. Bubba eyed her up and down briefly, before returning to his puzzle, feeling safe as long as I sat near him.

And then, Miss Gayle came in.

Miss Gayle is the playground monitor and bus helper. She is loud and boisterous and energetic and happy. She burst into the room and swept Bubba up into a big hug.

"Brady! I didn't get to see you all summer! I missed you!" Bubba squeezed Miss Gayle back energetically.

"Miss Gawell! Miss Gawell! Me miss you!" Miss Gayle set him down and let him return to his puzzle, but she stayed to say hello to a few of the other students. I took a chance and held my breath briefly before standing up.

"Ok, Bubba, mama has to go. That's your new teacher, Miss Sellars." I pointed to his teacher. "If you need anything, you ask her or Miss Gayle, ok?" Bubba looked up at me with his big green eyes. He looked at me carefully, as if he were considering what to do. And then, he puckered his lips for a kiss and raised his arms for a hug. I breathed a sigh of relief. This meant no tantrum. He was willing to say goodbye without tears. Maybe my baby was growing up after all. I hugged and kissed him goodbye and left the building, my throat feeling tight on the walk home. Two babies in school.

Where has the time gone?