Jelly Goes to Kindergarten

Alef: the first letter of
the Hebrew alphabet

 Yesterday was Jelly's first day of kindergarten. It was all the things I suppose the first day of kindergarten should be like. So much excitement at seeing some familiar faces, the chaos of figuring out where to line up, learning teachers' names and scoping out the new kids. I managed not to cry. My baby girl, in kindergarten. She said she wasn't nervous.

Today, the second day of kindergarten, was a little harder. No parents to accompany her to the classroom meant an extra long goodbye and a few tears I saw her fighting hard to keep in.

Jelly hasn't shared much about the days. I found out through another boy that she cried when the teacher spelled her name wrong (the woes of having a name that can be spelled multiple ways.) She fell on the playground. She learned some Hebrew but she doesn't remember what it means. She had art and her friend had music.

But I know Jelly. She has to process first. She won't come home recounting her entire day though I have no doubt she remembers it. Little bits will come out here and there when she's ready to share them.

This morning, as I prepared her lunch she told me about what was okay to bring for snack and what was okay for lunch. "You can't have too much food at my school," she told me. Later, "there are no mistakes in art, right, Mommy?"

She is the smallest one in her class, which means she is the smallest one in the school. That seemed to bother Jelly a little bit today. She can't climb as high as the other kids. As part of the under five feet crowd, all I could think was "get used to it, kid." I hope her big personality will make up for it.

She had an interesting observation about Hebrew, which is part of her school's curriculum. She had taken some Spanish classes in preschool so I asked her why she thought she could remember the Spanish words but not the Hebrew. "Because at Spanish they gave me a paper with all the words on it In Hebrew, there's no paper." I explained that this was probably because Hebrew words use a different alphabet, one that she doesn't know how to read yet.

This was an astute statement on her part. Jelly is a visual learner. This surprised me since her language skills, from vocabulary to reading and writing, are so strong. But Jelly learns to read even complicated words essentially as sight words. Even now, she still doesn't quite get the "sound it out" concept. So, by not being able to see the Hebrew words, she has a harder time remembering them.

Or maybe she's just not ready to tell me.

Finding the Right School

Moe does not currently attend school. He is homeschooled, and we have crafted a program that we think best meets his needs right now. As I have written about before, our district program is not appropriate for him. They do not agree. If we want him back in school, we either have to move; send him back to his old school, allowing him fail so miserably it is obvious he needs a non-public placement (which we are not willing to do); or sue the school and hope we win. We're trying for the first option but the Bay Area home market is nothing short of ridiculous now.

But this is not news.

Now we have another challenge. Jelly starts kindergarten in the fall. Our district has some great schools but our home school, which is just at the end of our block, has a mediocre reputation. Still, we hoped that would be a good option for Jelly. Friday, Jeff and I went on a kindergarten tour. And we quickly realized that this is not the school for her.

There are several reasons, but it is enough to say she won't be going to our home school.

Like with Moe, we also have three choices: we can move (see above fact about ridiculousness of Bay Area home prices); try to get into the district's charter school, which we'll be visiting on their tour date later this month; or send her to private school. And while the cost of private schools around here is roughly equivalent to buying a new car every year, it is probably still less insane than the housing prices.

So we've been touring private schools. Some of these schools are remarkably beautiful. Some have chefs, as you'd expect for the children of Google and Facebook employees. Others have wonderful philosophies but are tiny, without a decent social atmosphere. And others are, well, specific. There are several bilingual immersion schools, Waldorf and Montessori schools, several religious schools, and even one based on mindfulness.

But what strikes me most is that we have a choice. With Moe, all our choices have, in effect, been taken away from us. And while we want to make the right decision for Jelly—we take it very seriously, in fact—we do know that she will be probably do well anywhere. And if we choose a school, and it isn't right for her, we'll change. There are options.

Why is it that the kids who have the greatest need, for whom the stakes are so much higher, have so few options? That the kids who truly need a specialized, individualized education, receive little more than lip service to that effect? When it comes to Jelly's education, we get to find what is best, while with Moe it is only what is appropriate?

Ponder that for a while. I'll be filling out kindergarten applications.