**I am having trouble blogging because I keep waiting for time to edit, perfect, add more relevant stories. But I guess for now I’ll share some of my thoughts with you! Thanks for reading a glimpse of our lives here. There’s certainly lots more to tell and I don’t even think these are the most interesting parts, but it is what I have right now!
October 7, 2010
I brought Henry to his sixth day of Kindergarten today and was very close to giving up on it completely. But I just don’t do that. Bummer, too. I would really like to give up. But then what? I am sure we are not the only family who has gone through this, but I certainly feel like we are when I am there. Though I am learning lots of German by staying with him for 2 1/2-3 hours at kindergarten, it is still often a blur of language all around me. So when I told Henry that I was going to go to the store for a bit and would be back in an hour and he began to cry and beg me to let him come with me, I was nearly in tears myself. Oh wait, yes, eventually I did cry. I called John and poured out my woes. I list them here not to criticize and say “this way is wrong” but rather to say, “This way is different and I do not yet understand it. Nor do I see how I ever will.”
October 22, 2010
Once again I have put off writing until I am in a better frame of mind! The above unfinished paragraph has had time to work itself out a bit. I am tempted to delete it, but I must remember how discouraged I felt two weeks ago. Henry has attended German Kindergarten for four weeks, two or three days a week, from about 8:30 to noon. For the first 2 weeks I went with him. The third week, Elisabeth was home on Fall break (a delightful 2 weeks!) so Henry’s teacher said she was welcome to come with him. Other siblings came on the first day, but Elisabeth really enjoyed it and wanted to stay longer. The three of us attended on Monday, then just Elisabeth and Henry on Thursday and Friday. They played together for the most part, and by the end of the week it appeared that it was time for Henry to go on his own. We’ve had our usual ups and downs, and he still cries when I leave him, but he also calls out in a loud, teary voice, “Bye, Mommy!” I think I have an easier time accepting his attendance when I am not having to be with him the whole time. When I am there I see the behind the scenes that you wouldn’t see in any childcare brochure--kids fighting, wet diapers being changed and hands not washed, new kids crying--as well as the things that would be in the brochure (if there were one) the attentive teachers caring for kids and listening to their stories with interjections of “Toll!” (Great!) and seeing the amazingly creative activities kids involve themselves in when they are not burdened by schedules or restrictions on how certain equipment may or may not be used. One day I picked up Elisabeth and Henry and they were playing in the back of the playground by an empty fire pit. There were benches, but they were not connected, so they had laid some boards to connect the benches together and were merrily running around the completed circle. One of the boards nearly fell off with every step and I adjusted it a few times. I wondered how much falling had occurred before we arrived because Henry had a big black smudge over his left eye.
As I write this I remember how I said to John, “Should we really send him there? I mean, he could get really badly hurt. They just don’t have the same standards as we do.” But I was really thinking, “What would I do then? I don’t think I could find anything different. This isn’t even the alternative kindergarten.” “But this,” replied John, “is the sort of play and experience that is whisked away by too-safe America.” So, when in Rome . . .
When it comes down to it, Henry is happy there--we watched him playing where he couldn’t see us today moments before picking him up--running around in his fireman raincoat and boots which evoked envy in the five-year old boys. He relies on his teachers, or Erzieherinnen, as they are called, which is a different word than the German word for teacher. It is more like an educator, or someone who helps the families take care of the children. Frau Siechter (I can never remember if her name rhymes with lie or lee) speaks a little English--enough to answer Henry’s questions if she can understand his three-year old pronunciation. But we communicate in German these days and I am happy to say I can figure things out. Today she said that every day is a little better. Hurrah! And I think she said he is participating with the group more too. He is in the Hassen grupe, or the Bunnies group. They start out their day in the Bauraum--the building room--which is equipped with blocks, cars (his favorite), magnetic building toys, and a table for crafts. At 9:00 they have Morgankreiss, or morning circle with a little bit of talking, sometimes a song or two, sharing time and roll. An older child usually counts the students, so Henry is counting to 20 in German now on his own, missing a few here and there. He doesn’t really like Morgankreiss, probably because he understands so little of it. Then there is sometimes a group craft or activity or else they can go to any room with an open door and play.
A recent conversation with Henry:
“After I land in the space shuttle I will fly to Chicago then to Brussels then to Austin.
Oh, no, I will fly to India, then to Osaka, then take the train to Houston.”
“How will you get to Osaka?” asked Grandmere.
“I don’t know!” (said with surprise and nearly indignation) “I haven’t gotten there yet!”
Caption: Henry at the flight museum at the airport waiting for my Mom to arrive.
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