Teacher Extraordinaire

Even harder than watching Butterfly graduate from High School last week was watching my baby officially end kindergarten.

All year long, I have joined the throng of cars lined up along the sidewalk of his school at 11:30. Out of the door comes his teacher, Mrs. Rubin, with her kindergarten class following close behind like little ducklings. Only Little Squirt doesn’t waddle. He usually exits the building hopping. Or swinging his backpack into the kidneys of the child in front of him, always with a big smile on his face. He has loved every minute of this year. And mostly, he’s loved his teacher.

Mrs. Rubin took the spotlight as the most exciting woman in his life last September, and I was demoted to “stupid.” I couldn’t write, read, or help him zip up his coat as well as she. “No, Mom, that’s not the way Mrs. Rubin does it!” he frequently scolded. And I was okay with that. What last fall were little squiggles on paper have now morphed into words he loves to read. His shaky handwriting has greatly improved, and he leaves me phonetically-spelled notes all over the house. “I luf you, mom.” He counts my change, and tells time on the hour and half. That was all Mrs. Rubin’s doing.

I really think it’s hardest to watch your youngest grow up. Little Squirt is my baby, coming 8 years after my middle child. He is the last; the one whose babyhood I was supposed to savor. I planned on soaking in each sleepless night and poopy diaper and peanutbutter fingerprint on the wall, because I knew how quickly my other two grew up. So I thought if I relished every ordinary moment of mothering him to the depths of my heart, it would make the years go that much slower. But they didn’t. Sending him to kindergarten was excrutiating, and I cried many mornings of the first month that I dropped him off. It was hard to let him go.

But it quickly became apparent that he was in excellent hands. There was such a specialness about his teacher that made the transition easier. Mrs. Rubin loved on her students, and by doing so, loved on their parents. She was endlessly patient and encouraging, recognized the uniqueness of each child, and somehow able to create discipline and order out of the chaos of 19 little 5 year olds. She was able to make learning amazingly interesting to my party-animal son. My child was no quiet little angel. But he flourished, felt very safe, and loved getting up each morning, excited that it was a school day, anxious to “tell Mrs. Rubin” about one thing or another.

(Big wistful sigh.) I know he’ll have other teachers down the road that I will love. And some that I won’t. But this year was truly an exceptional year. It was blessed. I am beyond grateful to his beloved teacher. What a way to begin his career as student!

I took Little Squirt out to the restaurant of his choice on the last day of school. As we walked through the McDonald’s parking lot, I grabbed his hand. “Mom, stop!” he admonished. “You don’t need to hold my hand anymore! Mrs. Rubin told me I’m a big first-grader now!”