I feel like I owe it to those of you that have been here following along to at least give an overview of what happened. I don't want to get too specific, but I can do better than, y'know, nothing.
So you may have noticed that I loved Playette's teacher last year. I mean lurved. Like, I wanted her to come over and play on the weekends. We could drink wine and play cards. I had it all planned out in my head. We would laugh and laugh and then I'd be all, "Would you like some more Moscato? Go fish! HAHAHAHA!"
Or something like that.
Is that weird?
Anyway. She was a nice lady and we had a good rapport, in case that wasn't clear.
And there's always a but.
My kid. She just wasn't keeping it together in class. Her behavior was slipping into the unfavorable zone.
A meeting was called (which was good - they knew this wasn't how she came to them) and the consensus was that we would try placing Playette in the classroom next door. She would still see all of her friends regularly. She could keep her same locker. Several things would be put in place to ease the transition of a mid-year room switch.
I was sad, y'all. But this wasn't supposed to be about me. So we followed through, as a team, and I waited for the halo to reappear.
I waited a really long time. Too long, really.
I wanted to be patient. I didn't want to nag. I knew that the new teacher had been put in an awkward position.
But I wasn't getting the feedback that I needed.
So, with the help of a friend, I created a daily communication sheet.
And then I waited some more.
In the midst of all of this, more change happened. One aide left...and then another.
It wasn't because of my kid, I swear. Just circumstances. Regular, everyday, unavoidable stuff.
Keep in mind that my kid thrives on routine. Plus, she loved that first aide like her crazy mama loved that first teacher. (I guess we get attached.)
By the time Aide #3 was in place, it was about a month to go before the school year ended.
I'm sighing just thinking back on it.
If there's any advice I can give, it's "Don't wait."
If it doesn't feel right, speak up.
I feel like I failed my kid. Big time.
She was no longer comfortable. She was no longer doing her best. She was meeting the expectation, but the expectation didn't match her ability level.
I screwed up. The time just got away from me. I thought, but I didn't act.
So when the last day came, I was both happy that it was over and sad that she had missed out on so much.
I vowed to do better next year. This year.
I'm still stumbling, but I have hope.
This school thing is just not as easy as I had hoped it would be. At least in the early years. I thought it wouldn't get hard until later. Maybe it's me that's making it harder.
I better buck up before middle school.
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