My son Denis started school in September and does not change five to February. He was very happy that he spent two and a half days at preschool and in the summer it was very happy to start full-time full time. This excitement was reflected in his first day: he bounded himself to the classroom with nothing but excitement, although he did not know anyone in his class.
Ready for their first day
I came home that day and shouted out my eyes; The amount I missed him was at home was like a physical pain, but I comforted myself that at least he had treated it better than I had. This comfort, however, was a bit earlier. In the next few weeks he began to be upset about going to school while we were still at home, and he struck him was terrible.
He would sweep every time, not in an angry manner, but in a close-hearted way, hugged me and tried to wave well while the tears streamed into his crushed little face. I would look in through the window, see him sit and cry in a corner on his own and watch until the teacher discovered him. Any fiber in me would go back, but I knew it would only mean you left again.
He would say things like "I just do not want to be without you, mom." "Why do I have to go every day?" "I'll just miss you, I can not help that mother."
Of course, I chivvied him and told him I was proud of him, bowed him up and told him how soon schooling would be as familiar and fun as preschool. Inside, I just wanted to scoop him home and go home. I missed him so much and he was not even five yet, why did we do this? My heart was not in it, which made it so much harder.
But then he had begun, but it was hardly sensible to take him out of school until January when he would start anyway, and that would be the back of having a grossly failed attempt.
So, we continued. A great and genuine consolation was that Denis came to school happy, even in the early weeks when his day was desperate by a prolonged wobble in the morning. He always told me that he had a good time (although I reminded him of this in the morning, he would say that he had just said it because I was there to gather him).
Growing up fast
Now we are in November, and he has made a good friend whom he talks a lot about, and the wobbles when we have them are far faster. He still gets torn sometimes, but he does not stumble and is not upset at home. He had a school trip to a farm, which was a turning point for him: it was so cold. And he has been to a party thrown by one of his classmates who made him feel even more part of the team.
Then we get there. I still miss him (I loved half term), and when he cries it's still tough, but it happens less and is over very fast. And interestingly, when he had to take a few days because of a stomach, he cried not to enter.
September seems like a long time ago: I did not want to adjust to him all week, and I hated to send him to school. Now he learns, have fun and make good friends, and I enjoy giving the time to his little sister that he had with me in her age.
Maybe he and I were more ready for big schools than we thought?
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