Thanks to Robots

Just like his last preschool, Simon's new bilingual Montessori has a rainbow fence around the grounds. It's strange and familiar at the same time. There are small tables and chairs just his size, sinks he can reach without a step stool, and a sandbox outside, but none of us were sure exactly how all this was going to go.

Could he handle going to school all morning and every day? (He's used to only 2.5 hrs, two days a week)
What was class time like? (Will there be Legos?)
Are all the staff bilingual? (Turns out: no, but it's cool!)
Sweet Zombie Jesus, what would snack time be like?

His first day he was nervous, but Ian and I stayed in the building all morning to help Simon adjust and get settled in. It went fairly well, with some minor missteps.

We weren't told about all the changing of outfits and shoes. It's a thing in Russia that you have your outdoor shoes and your inside shoes and change in and out of them accordingly. Whatever clothes he wears to play in outside are taken off in a little locker room outside the classroom and he changes into clean comfy pants before going back to class (which we sort of already do at home, "Did you play outside in those clothes? Take them off before you roll around in my bed, child!")
We weren't told, so we weren't ready for that. I know it wasn't our fault, but I felt bad for our ignorance. I wanted to make a good first impression and here we clomped into the class in street shoes like dumb American Godzillas.

WE CARE NOT FOR THE CLEANLINESS OF YOUR FLOORS! RAAAAAAWWWWRRR!!

Ahem.

Simon's classroom has an aid and two teachers, one who speaks Russian, and one who speaks English (although he can speak Russian as well, but in the class he's only supposed to speak English to the kids whether they understand him or not). Simon is the only child in his class whose first language is English and his teacher seemed delighted to have a child there who he can effectively communicate with. My hat is off to the guy. Translating Russian Toddlerese has to be insanely tough.

Ian had to busy himself with taking care of administrative stuff (photocopies of our passports, emergency info, paying tuition) and I stayed in Simon's classroom with him for a while and spoke with his teacher. I probably stayed too long. His teacher assured me it was fine, but I was paranoid the Russian teacher disapproved. After a time I was invited to leave the classroom and sit in an empty meeting room (STRIKE TWO! No one told me there was a room I was supposed to wait in! I didn't know! How could I know?!)

Simon was a little distressed once I left. Our last preschool was a Co-Op, so that meant parents rotated a schedule and worked at the school (What up, WPNS!). We had told Simon that we wouldn't be able to be in his class, but I don't think he really understood how unfamiliar all the adults would be. His first day at his old school his best friend's mother was working that day, so me leaving wasn't even a thing. I think it was a shock for him to realize he was in a place with real strangers.

We made it through the first day, and his teacher, Ian, and I were all optimistic that Simon was going to settle in just fine once the culture shock wore off. Monday was a little rough and unfamiliar and maybe a little scary, but he was going to be fine.

And then Tuesday happened.

Tuesday Ian went to the archive to get started working, and I took Simon to school. We had permission for me to stay again to ease his transition. With some reluctance on his part, I got Simon inside the building, changed and re-shod, and then I went to sit in the meeting room for what I thought would be a fairly quiet morning of sitting around feeling like a stupid helicopter mom because my kid wasn't going to care where I was once I was out of the room.
Wrong.

He very much cared where I was. I could hear him on the other side of the wall crying for me. I wanted to go see if I could help, but decided to wait until I was sent for.

Soon I was sent for. I went next door and hugged a very sweaty, snotty, tear-stained child who only wanted to go home and play with me and build with Legos. One of the sweet little girls in his class came by to pat him and ask if he was OK. She brought him a book. My heart broke. We read a book and he calmed down, but he was still very upset when I went back to the meeting room.

I didn't hear him cry for a while.

As I sat there trying to calm down from calming down my son, I saw something move at my feet. A small tortoise emerged from under the small sofa I was occupying. It was an unexpected delight during such an emotionally exhausting morning. I had an overwhelming desire to hug the tortoise, but decided against it as tortoises generally aren't into that sort of thing.

I was sent for a couple more times that day, always returning to the meeting room very sad, unable to will the tortoise to my side for comfort. Poor Simon. Stupid adorable tortoise.

Wednesday was the worst walking to school. I had to carry him part of the way, not because he wouldn't walk with me, but because he screamed, "I HATE my school! I want to go home!" and my heart ached and I had to hold him before I started crying. We got to the entrance and he stopped and wouldn't come in with me. We hugged and talked it over.

"Are you afraid something bad will happen at school?"
"Yes."
"I understand being afraid of something bad happening. But what if something good happens?"

I reminded him that school is where friends are made and fun is had, and that his father and I would never send him to a school where the teachers weren't at least as nice as his teachers from last year. I was so scared Wednesday would be worse than Tuesday given how upset he was but, in a surprising twist, it was actually better! 

Simon kept drawing special pictures of dragons and robots for me and he would bring them over to the meeting room (where I sat like a creeper for the third day in a row) all smiles. He helped peel the carrot to feed the school rabbit with. He interacted with the lovely little girl who had brought him the book the previous day. He took some time to at least inspect the food available for lunch before deciding he didn't want any.

Wednesday afternoon took a sudden downturn, unfortunately. Simon got a tummy ache and got sick, then had a fever the rest of the night and into the next morning. We stayed home, and I missed the new Speaking Club I was going to take part in with some of the other mothers at the school that morning (more on that once I've actually been to it). I wasn't sure what the break would do for our momentum in trying to establish school as a daily routine. I was very nervous it would set Simon back into Tuesday's panic mode.

Friday morning.
Simon was recovered.
A newsletter from the school had been emailed to parents Thursday night and had mentioned a Robot Club activity taking place on Monday evenings.
We told Simon about it and explained that if he wanted to be a part of it  (and OOOOOOOHHH, did he ever want to be involved with the robots!) he was going to have to go to school every day and be a student there. He agreed. But I was still wary. As previously mentioned in the Food Battles entry, even multiple conversations with detailed explanations don't always mean that our child will understand/care/or accept what his reality is.

There was some whining upon arrival, but he walked in the door under his own steam, got changed, and was mostly only concerned with finding out more about the Robot Club and if he could go to it (Ian and I were uncertain if there was an age requirement as the email didn't specify). His teacher assured Simon that he was old enough (and cool enough!) to be in Robot Club.

That was all he needed. We hugged goodbye and he went about his day at school while I got a very much needed morning to myself. I was able to brew and consume several cups of tea before they got cold. It was amazing.

I was planning to pick Simon up a little later than I did to give him more time to consider trying the lunch offering (and his Russian teacher even mentioned she had hoped I'd do that also), but I was too anxious to wait another ten minutes in case he'd been weeping all day. But, apparently, no crying! (He's ready for baseball!) He was happy to see me but not in any distress when I arrived. It was a special kind of happiness. I am so proud of him.

He was fine. Everything was fine, thanks to robots.