My six-year-old son is in kindergarten this year. My husband and I held him back a year because he punched a pregnant teacher in the belly at his Christian mother’s day out program. In his defense, she was probably yelling at him. He was four at the time, and he was subsequently demoted to the three-year old room. It was for the best.
He really is a sweet boy with enough energy to power a small rocket to the moon. He is beginning to read this year, and I am so proud of him. I miss the age when children were so little that everything was a first for them: first word, first steps, first time to jump off the house (just kidding, maybe). Now reading is a first for him! Writing words is also fun for him. Right now there is an 8″ x 11″ piece of paper with the word “POOP” written on it on my fridge. I shall gladly display it there until the New Year. This is what moms do.
I can’t say it’s been a completely stress free year. He has a wonderful young teacher who is able to defuse his red-headed temper almost as aptly as MacGyver could diffuse a bomb. Although, there was the time during the first week of school that he told everyone he hated them and picked up a chair to throw it at his sweet little teacher. I don’t recall my daughter ever doing something like this at his age, and yet I have a hard time believing this is a boy thing. I accidentally forgot to send a quarter with his packed lunch a couple of weeks ago, and he stated his disdain for me to the entire cafeteria. Imagine his dismay when he was told that he will be packing his lunch from now on. All of a sudden he is liking school food.
Things have started to improve exponentially since that day. His teacher messaged me that he was chosen to be the door greeter. Any time someone knocks on the door, his job is to welcome the visitor and ask them what he can help them with. In addition, the class got a new student, and my son was chosen to help him out with what to do in class as well as the bus line. He’s a good helper and friend to others. Despite the anger he feels when he doesn’t get his way, he has a good heart. This could be said of most human beings, I suppose.
My son has taught me a lot of things about life through his eyes. He’s taught me that when he is singing and making up songs, he is happy. When he’s outdoors, he is happy. When he is building something or muddy, he is happy. When presented with life’s simple joys, and we take the time to enjoy them, we are happy. It isn’t about money or stuff. I’m old enough now to realize that money and stuff disguises itself as joy and then proceeds to drain it from you.
I had orginally intended to write about my son’s Christmas gift to his teacher I sent with him this morning. She sent me a message that she opened it and was literally crying. Massage gift certificates are pretty awesome tear-worthy gifts. It’s probably the most expensive thing I’ve ever bought a teacher, but the most well deserved. It won’t collect dust on her desk or get thrown in a storage bin. It’s a well deserved treat for a thankless job and a reminder that sometimes the gift giver doesn’t always end up empty handed. My cup runneth over.