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My son has escaped the kindergarten pen at his school at least four times. The pen, perhaps harsh in name, is actually a lovely fenced-in play area with toys, a large sandbox and shade-giving trees. It exists to keep the smallest of our school-aged children safely contained until they\u2019re mature enough to be let loose on the field at recess, and gives many parents peace of mind. Most of the kids seem to enjoy the pen, running around happily and taking turns on a few small bikes. It\u2019s one of the nicest kindergarten areas I\u2019ve seen, with large rocks and tree stumps for climbing on, and a raised garden bed where things can grow. It\u2019s more than pleasant, but to my son, it represents absolute oppression (or at least a challenge). He is not staying in there without a fight. God help me, and his teachers.<\/p>\n
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Some days, I get reports that my son has escaped the pen. He\u2019s burst out in the seconds it is open or slipped out through a tiny gap at the corner of the fence. One time, he simply climbed up, reached over and unlatched the closing mechanism before making a run for freedom. Fortunately, he is less subtle than he is agile, and he\u2019s always been caught.<\/p>\n
There are other reports from the school, or the after school program. He\u2019s had a meltdown because he had to stop building with Lego and move on to another activity. He smacked a kid who knocked over his tower. He\u2019s fought with his best friends and thrown sand at recess. A kid threw sand back and he wailed, inconsolably, because he can\u2019t take what he sometimes gives. He\u2019s gotten into a wrestling match with a boy twice his size and pushed a kid who called him a silly name. He\u2019s intense, quick to over-react and never not loud \u2013 a volcano of emotion that bubbles over at home, in the classroom and wherever else he goes. He is four years old.<\/p>\n
He has exceptional teachers who navigate his ups and downs with ease, speaking to him calmly and with respect for his emotions. There are days I show up to morning drop-off exhausted, war-torn and emotionally drained because of the battle of wills I\u2019ve fought before 9:00 am. I wonder what the other parents think, or what stories their kids have brought home. Is he the-kid-who-escapes-the-pen? The-kid-who-smacked-my-kid? That-one-who-always-melts-down? It breaks my heart to think that\u2019s all someone may see when they look at him. His teachers smile and welcome him warmly. They\u2019re good at their jobs, and I truly believe they like and understand him. I walk away from the school, and within seconds, I miss him terribly.<\/p>\n
I miss him because I know the boy that not everyone sees. I know that this intense, emotional child who plays rough and melts down at the drop of a hat is also sweet, kind, loving and smart. I see so much more than any incident report could ever explain.<\/p>\n
I see the boy who snuggles up to me each night, reading books about dinosaurs and sharks. Who loves information and can\u2019t wait to tell me what he\u2019s learned at school. Who wants to be a police man, a paleontologist and a veterinarian. Who defends bees and wants to help the polar bears.<\/p>\n
I see the boy who likes me to scratch his back while he falls asleep, and sleepily asks me to sing Three Little Birds while he drifts off.<\/p>\n
I see the boy who wakes up with a nightmare at 2am and asks to sleep in our bed, curled up with his head beside mine on the pillow and his tiny feet stuck in his father\u2019s neck.<\/p>\n
I see the boy who wakes up in his dino pajamas with a wild crown of bedhead, asking for Honey Nut Cheerios and Wild Kratts. He has a favourite blanket, a favourite stuffed animal and always wants the orange dino vitamin.<\/p>\n
I see the boy who loves animals and is scared of the dark. Who does everything with passion, happily or not, and is wildly affectionate. Who adores his sister, even though they drive each other insane, and lives to make her laugh. Who draws pictures and tells stories with unbridled enthusiasm. Who hugs his grandparents tightly and crawls into my lap when he\u2019s tired.<\/p>\n
I see the boy who asks questions about the world, about nature and people, and shows compassion. Who hugs his friends, argues when he perceives injustice and throws compliments around like confetti. The boy who whispers, \u201cI love you so much, mama,\u201d when I tuck him into bed, and asks me to stay with him until he falls asleep.<\/p>\n
I see my kind, sweet, loving, complicated boy who is only four years old, and still has time to mature and grow. The boy I love so much, no differently than I love his type-A, rule-following sister. My beautiful son.<\/p>\n
I hope others get to see a fraction of what I see. There\u2019s so much more to the boy who escapes the kindie pen, and one day, he\u2019ll share that part of himself with the world.<\/p>\n
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My son has escaped the kindergarten pen at his school at least four times. The pen, perhaps harsh in name, is actually a lovely fenced-in play area with toys, a large sandbox and shade-giving trees. It exists to keep the smallest of our school-aged children safely contained until they\u2019re mature enough to be let loose<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":15,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[4,2],"tags":[],"class_list":{"0":"post-748","1":"post","2":"type-post","3":"status-publish","4":"format-standard","6":"category-mom-moments","7":"category-parenting"},"yoast_head":"\n