Diorama Drama

The Boy got an assignment last week in his new class. All the kids were to work on a "family project", a diorama of their rooms. We had a week to complete it, and he would present it to his class when it was due. So I dug out a shoe box and we found a doll house bed and rocking chair to put inside.

He was SO excited about it. The Boy chose a Lego Santa to be him and a tiny baby to be his brother. He cut out a paper tent and I helped him fold it before he added Avengers stickers. He decided that his room needed carpet, so he set about painting the floor, then the walls of the box. I figured we were finished, but he wanted to make a bookshelf with books, and wanted to illustrate the book covers. He also found a Bullseye figurine to represent his rocking horse. I did put my foot down when he wanted to add a roof. 

Rocking chair, bookshelf, and tent represented in diorama

Then he practiced talking about it. He told me about it, he told The Husband about it, he told my mom about it. And he told his brother that he most definitely could NOT touch it or bother it. I was excited to see him so excited about it, and to work so hard. 

Then the night before it was due, I re-read the paper to make sure we had everything it needed. Except this time DIORAMA was spelled DIAGRAM. Make a diagram of the room. Diagram. Not diorama. Ohhhh. I was wondering how they were planning to hang all those dioramas in the hall.

So you asked for a simple drawing and we created a 3D model complete with illustrated book covers? This was just like my fourth grade science project, when my classmates had done simple projects like posters about which paper towels were strongest, and not knowing the appropriate expectations, I had soaked real teeth (donated from my dentist's office before HIPPA) in coke and lemon juice for two weeks and charted the results. Sometimes less is more. And doesn't stink as bad.

I wanted to add a plaque to display with it in the hall that said "we aren't over compensating for anything, his mom is just bad at reading directions."

By this point he was so proud that I couldn't not let him send it. But I was also embarrassed. I didn't want it to look like we went ALL OUT on his first project and were trying to show everybody up. I'm not above stealing the spotlight (Example: I rocked an a capella solo of Tiffany's I Think We're Alone Now for my kindergarten talent show). But I don't want to be the preschool pageant parent, pushing my kid to be competitive with his peers. Plus, I had already cried The Big Tears at orientation, and I was still trying to play that off and not seem high maintenance. And then I'm like, I see your diagram project and raise you a DIORAMA.  Thank God I didn't let him add that roof. 

I casually mentioned to The Boy that some of his friends might choose to do their projects differently, and that it was up to the families how to do them. I wrote a quick note to the teacher explaining what had happened and sent him on with his project. When I saw him that night I asked how it went, and he said "all my fwiends wiked it! And I got to sit in the teacher's chair to talk about it!" I asked him what his friends did for their projects, and he said with a hint of confusion "they all did paper?" Oh, you mean followed the directions? Yeah, buddy, sorry you and I are the only ones over here with a shoe box. I think we're alone now. There doesn't seem to be any one arou-hound.... 

Back to school

I confess I have never understood parents who cry when their kids go back to school. I think it's joyous! Routine. Social interaction. A much needed break from them for a few hours. Plus sometimes they even learn things. I know mine is only in preschool but every year I have celebrated back to school as a developmental milestone and a self congratulatory "we made it another year!"

We had orientation for 4 year old preschool on Friday. It's at the same school he's been at since he was 8 weeks old, in the preschool department he's been in for the last two years. His new class is next door to his three year old class, which is next door to the 2 year old class he was in before that. 

Skipping with excitement for orientation

We know this place. We love this place. We met his new teacher, and learned the things he'll be learning about this year. We signed up to help with a party and he got to play with some of his friends. After two years of mother's morning out and two years of preschool this is old hat to us. 

He was excited and didn't want to leave when it was over. I dropped him off in his summer class and popped my head back in to ask his teacher one thing. 

I was planning to let her know that he has some sensory needs, and that we're always open to hearing about things we might need to work on. I was planning to ask if she would please let us know each day if he's had a good day or not, because on good days he gets to earn a special snack in the car. On bad days we say we'll try again tomorrow. 

And that's when it hit me. An unexpected flood of tears. WTH is this? 

I don't mean tears welled up behind my eyes but I was able to hold them at bay. I mean fat tears overwhelmed my eyes and rolled down my cheeks and plopped onto my shirt and I had to stand up from the tiny chair where I was sitting and get a tissue. 

I can't explain how it felt. I'm still happy he's going to school. I'm happy he's developing appropriately and learning and growing and moving on, as he's supposed to do. But suddenly, as I was talking about his good days and bad, I was reminded that the days are long but the years are short. And here we are suddenly in a four year old class where they learn SIGHT WORDS, when it was just ten minutes ago he was placed naked on my chest, just a little 6 pound wad of wrinkly skin and healthy, crying lungs, and blue eyes taking in the world. 

And it's more than that. It's how do you, in 5 minutes explain that sometimes he's unintentionally too rough and too loud but in spite of this, he's still kind and positive, and that he cares so deeply for others? And that he's also fun and funny and smart and articulate and has a great memory and loves art time and is a good helper? I wanted to tell her all these things without being the weird parent who was telling her all these things. I wanted to thank her for teaching him, for loving him, for picking him up when he falls on the playground, for taking care of him. I wanted to tell her how hard her job must be, and that I appreciated that she would be patient and kind to him and the others. In that moment, he was the big four year old learning sight words and math concepts, but he was also my little boy, who can't say his Ls or Rs, willingly still holds my hand, and is afraid that the Grinch lives in his closet. In that moment he was suspended between young and old, and my mind was conflicted with allegiance toward both of his selves.

But I couldn't say all that so the tears said it instead. Or maybe they said I was a crazy, paranoid, overprotective helicopter mother, who knows? 

Anyway, I stammered through some hey-I'm-happy-to-communicate-with-you offering and left for work. On the way I called my mama, as we are won to do when we cry, and told her that I think crying at orientation is RIDICULOUS, and I told her about how it turns out, I too, am ridiculous. Maybe this wasn't old hat after all. She listened and understood, as mamas are won to do. 

Over the weekend we talked with excitement about his first day in his new class. I fixed him a special first day of school breakfast, which he not-so-politely declined in favor of cereal.

 He got ready, we took pictures, and I took him to school. His teacher had asked all the parents to use the car rider line and not walk the kids in, so I wished him luck and drove away, leaving my big kid there for his last first day of preschool. 

BeYoYo started fussing in the car. No doubt he was missing his brother. "You'll be there soon enough" I told him. 

When I got home I went in The Husband's office. "How was it?" he asked. "Oh, he did fine" I said. "He was excited." The Husband didn't look up from his work, but responded "I was talking about you." 

By that time I had fully recovered from Friday's emotion, but it was still fresh enough that it was on my mind, much like a hangover reminding you of last night. 

I was excited to pick him up, and The Husband and I took him to lunch to celebrate his first day. He told us some about his class but didn't have too much to say. After all, this is old hat to him. So we sat there eating and talking about the birds, his blue eyes still taking in the world.