Well. . . actually, who really knows about my wife, she’s probably going to be going to school for the rest of her life. BUT! she should actually get herself a degree by the end of spring. And, this is all being done on campus this year, meaning she has to wade through the hordes of 18-21 year olds and somehow manage not to go postal on them all. Quite the feat, if she can manage it.
My daughter, however, has actually quite a bit less of a change to her standard routine. The 4K she’s enrolled in is actually at the exact same place she’s been going to daycare for however long she’s been going to daycare. She jumps from one classroom to the other as her way of marking the difference between public education and playtime.
That being said, she still managed to have some trouble with her first day in the classroom. In my incessant questioning of how her first day of school was, the answer I finally received (the only answer I’ve received thus far, even though she’s now on day three) was that she was sad that not all of her friends had decided to continue going to the same school as her.
In fact, Tuesday night her and I had a rather lengthy conversation about the idea of losing touch with friends and the trepidations of making new ones. Although the people who are no longer in her class are names that she almost never mentions in her daily reports (except for that of her cousin, who moved on to a different school for the year), she seemed to dislike the change of it all. Some of her closest friends (including the one male friend she’s been talking about marrying for over a year now) are still there.
So little has changed in her little life with this induction into the realm of the public school system, but the little bit I’ve been able to get out of her makes it sound like nothing is the same. And she doesn’t really seem to be all that happy about it.
Of course, at the same time, she was super excited to show her new room to her brother and give him the grand tour this morning, so perhaps it’s just that she gets rather reflective at the end of the day when her and I finally get to chat, and those reflections remind her of the things she misses. Who knows. What I do know is that my 4-year old daughter has some pretty deep thoughts rolling around in that head of her’s, outside of the constant need to call me “Poopy Butt” whenever she thinks her mom’s not listening in. . .
Kids. . .