My biggest baby has been going to school for six weeks already. His first few weeks have passed in a blur, and looking at him now, I can no longer imagine him as a tiny wee kindy kid.
The first two weeks were tough; Tiny was tired and reluctant, but he trudged on through. Six weeks in, he’s found his rhythm and is thriving in his new environment. Every day, I’m astounded by what he has learned and absorbed, and by how mature, mentally and emotionally, he has become. He took four weeks to learn to read 24 high frequency words, and just two weeks to learn the next 20; in the midst of a minor tantrum, he told me all that he knew about patterning, which meant I completely forgot what we were disagreeing about and just sat there, smiling loopily at him.
I met with his teachers last week, for a progress report, and to say I came out of the meeting a proud mama is an understatement.
They showed me examples of his writing and maths, and I sat there grinning like a mute fool; for a reluctant writer, he has come along in leaps and bounds since starting at school.
They told me he was reading at a level much higher than expected after just six weeks, and his love of books is very evident in his work; one of them laughed as she told me about an exchange they’d had that very day:
“[Tiny], can you come and see me for a moment, please?”
“Actually, Mrs Armstrong, [student teacher] is reading a story at the moment and I really love books, so can I come and see you in a minute?”
They asked if I had any questions or concerns – no; in turn, I asked the same of them.Their response has had my heart smiling all weekend: apparently he is “gorgeous” to have in the classroom.
What more could a parent ask for?