Life,  Love,  Motherhood

Dear 2020 Kindergarten Teacher

Dear Kindergarten Teacher,

Hello again. Some time has passed since I last wrote to you — approximately a hundred eternities if you consider the last few months. I hope this letter finds you well, in every sense of the word. Let me thank you (for the umpteenth time) for nurturing our firstborn’s mind and heart two years ago. Her chair was small, your energy was big, and together you chicka-chicka-boom-boomed through SUCH a fantastic kindergarten year. This momma is forever grateful. 

When “school-as-we-once-knew-it” came to a grinding halt this spring, I thought about you. I thought about March 12, 2020 being the last date in your classroom’s pocket calendar. I thought about crisscross-applesauce on the alphabet rug being replaced by eyes crossed on at-home devices. I thought about the school supplies left unused, the stories left unread, the artwork left on the walls, and the fourth quarter fun left out of the yearbooks. You didn’t get to hug your students goodbye. I probably thought about that the most. 

COVID-19 — the quintessential schoolyard bully — ripped up your lesson plans and scribbled all over the board. Do you think Principal could arrange for that meanie virus to be transferred to a new school in a different stratosphere? 

I just want *normal* back. 

Especially now. 

Because it’s our little boy’s turn. 

He is standing at kindergarten’s home plate, ready to swing for the fences. Yet I am standing at an unwelcome fork in the road, NOT ready to make hard choices. We are supposed to be deciding between an Incredible Hulk or Spider-Man lunchbox, but instead we are making the impossible decision of digital school versus face-to-face versus hybrid versus homeschool versus versus versus. 

It feels like a multiple choice question with no right answer… on a test I am determined to ace (or at least pass with a C+) for my child. 

Kindergarteners are not wired to be socially distant. They play, they touch, they hug, they share. At five years old, my son sees six feet on a bug, not six feet separating him from his buddies. And while masks are fun to wear when pretending to be Captain America or Queen Elsa, they will surely lose their luster ten minutes into a six-hour school day. So would I rather my boy’s beautiful blue eyes swirl in front of a small screen? Heck no. Given the option of virtually touring the zoo or actually feeding the  giraffes — hand us some lettuce. Same with school. WE WANT TO BE THERE. I know you do too. 

If only it were that simple.

In a season chock-full of uncertainties, it is certain that school will look + feel off kilter this year… but we can rest assured our kindergarten babies certainly will not detect the difference. Their first day of school is literally their FIRST day of school. And their trajectory is ours for the influencing.

So with that, I would like to introduce you to our little dude. 

He is 44.75 inches tall… 41 pounds strong… 2,177 days old… 103 percent awesome… and he loves me infinity plus one million. [He *kinda* has a knack for numbers. Please foster that.] He is competitive and adventurous and methodical, and he is the perfect ratio of serious to silly. His feet are quick, his brain is quicker, and his heartbeat for his daddy is the absolute quickest. 

This kiddo will be a joy to have in class, whichever way class is held. 

And when “school-as-we-now-know-it” revs up in a couple weeks, I will be thinking about you. I will think about health, hygiene, and safety being the ABC’s of kindergarten. [I bet you have created some cute sanitizing singalongs.] I will think about your stress level and your wellbeing, as if teaching a miniature army pre-pandemic wasn’t exhausting enough. I will think about your dedication, your love, your resilience, and the historic school year you are going to crush. You WILL get to hug your students again one day, and a little boy with a superhero lunchbox will be patiently waiting his turn. I will probably think about that the most. 

Please think of me too. We are in this together, with grace abundant. 

Respectfully,

Kindergarten Mommy 

P.S. Don’t hesitate to notify me if you are running low on supplies. By supplies I obviously mean wine. 

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