Bring on the Nursery School

With her fourth birthday now history, the lovely Madelyn Simone is more than ready to begin nursery school in September. Her scheduled preview visit was on a Nana day, so I became the designated driver. On that magic morning, she tiptoed out of her bedroom with a huge grin on her face, and brushed her teeth with no prompting. Even with a wardrobe malfunction that included a hole in her tights and a stubborn zipper on her dress, she was ready to go with an hour to spare. This child wants to go to school. Sure hope that feeling lasts into middle school.

Upon her arrival, Madelyn was off to explore, visiting the Lego table and the building block corner. She cradled a doll for about sixty seconds, and then moved on to try out the train table. No separation anxiety for this little whirlwind of energy. Nursery school socialization isn’t going to be a problem for our granddaughter. No surprise there.

Free play was extended while the teacher worked with each child on a handprint art project, allowing me to observe the interactions in the classroom. I was struck by the gendered activities and groupings as the children selected their own activities. While there was some interchange, the boys spent much of their time at the Lego table with a Wreck It Ralph kind of mentality, climbing on the chairs to build their towers to the utmost height, while the girls were engrossed in assembling their own creations at the art table.

Where was Madelyn? Checking it all out, making a moustache out of raffia with the girls and claiming her own space in the Lego world. I wonder if she’ll continue to maintain a variety of interests or if she’ll self-select to the world of Barbies by kindergarten?  

Social butterfly that she is, she won’t have trouble getting to know the kids in her class, but based on our visit, I’m not sure how she will do with the classroom rules and routines. She started out well in circle time, especially enjoying the “jump, jump, jump” instructions from the teacher. While the veteran children politely raised their hands to volunteer, Madelyn jumped up and down with excitement. And then, after sitting in the circle for a bit with the other children, she decided to sit in the middle of the circle, with a twirl or two on her way, earning a look of disdain from her temporary classmates.

Things got a bit dicey when they moved on to snacks, because Madelyn munched on her cheese balls as soon as they were served to her. She didn’t know that the children sang the “sun and the rain and the appleseed” grace before they ate their snack. The little girl sitting beside her had had enough by that point, and said to me, “You have to tell her to stop eating.” Oops, another social faux pas for my Madelyn.

Having gobbled down her snack, she and the boy beside her began to purse their lips and blow on their forearms, making the sounds of flatulence that fascinate so many four-year-olds. I don’t know who started it, but my money’s on Madelyn. The culprits were pleased with themselves, but their actions were met with looks of disgust from the self-proclaimed preschool police.

I stifled a chuckle at the outrage the children expressed over Madelyn’s missteps, intrigued that by the age of five, some had little tolerance for her exuberance and naiveté. Unlike the children, I understood that Madelyn didn’t yet know the rules, the social cues, and the expectations of the classroom. After a few weeks in school, she’ll understand what’s expected and do just fine, even if she still twirls around.

Our day together at Tiny Tots challenged me to be more patient with those who are new to a situation or whose social cue radar is deficient. Sometimes people legitimately don’t – or can’t – get it. Loosely paraphrasing Ecclesiastes 3, there is a time to enforce rules, and a time to extend hospitality to the stranger by rolling up our sleeves and blowing some raspberries. Our world needs both, but I’d rather err on the side of raspberries and grace.