Akka started school today. Two and a half hours of her being cared for by someone we didn’t have to pay. It took four years and three months of being parents before we were able to take advantage of a publicly-funded childcare program. For two and a half hours a day. Still, it was nice to drop her off and then walk past the office without having to go in and write a cheque.
Rant aside, she loved it. She raced into the classroom grinning. No tears, barely a backward glance. I spent the afternoon trying to extract small bits of information about her day. I learned that she met two kids: Oliver and Nathan. They went downstairs to music class and sat in a circle and sang ABC while the teacher played guitar. They went to yoga class and sat cross-legged (“like Buddha”) with palms together, breathing in through their noses and out through their mouths. Eyes closed but it’s ok to peek if you want to.
There were various name-tag-making activities. There was a book about bunnies. The books go in the basket.
On meet-the-teacher day and the first day of school I’ve offered her her choice of breakfast. The first day it was grilled cheese, the next it was quesadilla. She eats without fussing and we’ve managed to leave the house without crying, dragging, threatening or pleading (the four reasons I gave up my job and stopped taking them to daycare in the first place). So that’s good. But I’m worried I’ve set a precedent for cooked breakfasts and I have no intention of firing up the stove for anything other than tea before nine in the morning. For tomorrow, I offered her cereal or a bagel and she chose pasta. We have leftover pasta so I’ll go with it but I may be setting myself up for a series of breakfast disasters. Stay tuned.