With the relatively sure prospects of a rain-free morning, Audrey and I started what I hope becomes our morning ritual. We dropped Niamh off at pre-K and walked up to her school. This will never qualify her for the “When I was little I had to walk four miles to get to school” category. It’s merely a couple of blocks through the Decatur Square. Nevertheless, it’s a ritual that will take planning and will require us to allow at least an extra 20-30 minutes in the morning (perhaps less if it was anyone less paranoid about being late).
The first thing I did not anticipate – although I’m not quite sure why – was Niamh’s reaction. She wanted to walk there too. It dawned on me again how these special times with Audrey that are happening because of her new schedule are special things her sister doesn’t get. With that in mind, I plan on offering her the option of coming too in the morning since I’ll have to come back to get the car on Thursdays. It just reminded me that I need to be more deliberate about planning special things for Niamh even if it means taking yet more time from the official work schedule.
My second surprise – that it wasn’t this completely sweet, precious time together for 100% of the journey - o.k., not a complete surprise. After dropping Niamh off, Audrey and I returned to the car where we gathered out things for the day. Audrey had her huge backpack, and since it was her day to be snack helper, she had the plastic basket filled with the fruit ropes and string cheese. I, on the other hand, had my laptop, my very large handbag, my book bag loaded down with the wonderful 600+ page Oxford Handbook of Organizational Theory among the many other readings I overzealously assigned this semester. Oh yes, and for anyone who knows me, you know that I also had my coffee. Thus, it looked like we were about to go on a week-long mountain excursion rather than just walk to school.
We got ourselves adjusted for the experience. Audrey started with the backpack on her back and attempted to also hold the basket. It soon became obvious that this was not going to work for the entire walk. She got frustrated trying to hold both, and then got equally frustrated trying just the backpack and then the snacks. Ultimately I held the snacks part of the way and she managed as best she could with her backpack.
While this actually warrants its own blog entry, I feel commentary about backpacks is in order here. When got our email from Audrey’s teacher, Mrs. Curtice, it listed the items she would need for school. There were not many things on the list – Kleenex, a sock to wipe off white boards, etc. The one thing that stood out to me was “a large backpack.” Both Rick and I wondered, “Why would a kindergarten child NEED a LARGE backpack?” I even emailed Mrs. Curtice to inquire. Audrey has one of those cute little backpacks they monogram and sell in a little gift shop downtown. It had served her quite well in pre-K. I asked whether something that size would serve her in kindergarten. Mrs. Curtice replied that she needed the larger backpack. There would be times when she would bring home art, etc. that would probably not fit in a smaller one, and when she brings her lunch she will be able to put it in her backpack. Rick certainly had commentary on the situation: the metaphor for the burden we place upon children from the beginning of school – a burden they will carry with them for the duration of their education. At first I half-dismissed his commentary as, well, another installment of his commentary about schooling (as you might guess, we tend to have a lot of that at our house – from both of us). But this morning it was so vividly true. Our journey to the second day of school was significantly compromised by this large and mostly empty backpack. The fact of the matter is that it does not fit the frame of a five-year-old girl – much like most public school kindergarten curriculum does not “fit” five year-olds today. And like the backpack, much of that new hurried kindergarten curriculum is empty as well.
Of course, while I am on the subject, I had to judge myself as well. I carried my books because I had them at home most of the time – sneaking in twenty or thirty minutes wherever possible to get some of the 300+ pages of weekly reading done for classes. I have to carry my laptop because I had them take the PC out of my office last year. Without it I have to spend the day “unconnected.” I clutched to the coffee cup out of habit. I didn’t really drink in any the way (How could I while juggling my things as well as Audrey’s?). So, I have to rethink my own priorities to figure out ways to keep myself from being burdened during our shared experiences. Obviously I can forgo the coffee. As for the books, I can attempt to be more disciplined and organized and find ways to keep them in the office or at least limit when I transport them to reduce the “burden.” And perhaps I can make a deliberate attempt on some days to just go unconnected for a few hours.
In spite of our burdens, the overall walk was good. If I were to rate it on some sort of “educative experience” rubric, it wouldn’t rank terribly high. We noted mushrooms along the way but didn’t use it as a time to “re-teach” anything. We also had a teachable moment that involved problem solving. Audrey stepped in a muddy area on the way and became quite distressed over mud on her sparkly shoes. After she had some time to sulk, we stopped at the bench by the courthouse to assess the situation only to determine that what first appeared as mud was actually the brown in the shoes where the sparkles and pink had rubbed off. Interestingly, that knowledge diffused her angst. For whatever reason, having mud on her shoes was completely unacceptable. Having worn shoes, on the other hand, was fine. We joked, and I told her, “I guess understanding one problem that can’t be solved is just as good as solving a problem.” Maybe that’s the lesson for me today too. I can’t solve the problem of an empty kindergarten curriculum that burdens so many five-year-olds. I can understand why it’s so problematic and try to help others envision alternatives, and hopefully when a critical mass of “stakeholders” start to envision those alternatives we can engage the larger public in moving toward more meaningful experiences for all children.
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