OmegaMom

Public schools have a wide variety of ways to introduce themselves to new parents.

Julie, of the Ravin’ Picture Maven, has a new kindergardener entering school this year, and was treated to a scene of chaos when visiting the school’s open house this week.

Luckily, I seem to have missed that scene both in Small Mountain University Town–whose open houses for new students were at the end of last semester (wow)–and here in Small Town Alaska.

The teachers at the SMUT-ty kindergardens were warm and welcoming to hapless-looking parents with small children tagging along after them (that would be me and the dotter), answering questions, showing us around their rooms, and describing their teaching philosophies.

The schools here in Small Town Alaska have, for kindergardeners, something called “Kindergarden Roll-In”.  In a small bit of disorganization, this item was never defined on the school’s website, so we arrived here not knowing what the heck it was, though we knew it took place the first week of school.  But when the dotter and I wandered off to our school-to-be to register, All Was Made Clear.

What “Roll-In” is, is a week wherein each kindergarden teacher contacts the parents of each kindergardener (de facto new students) and sets up a one-on-one appointment with the parent, the child, the teacher, the teacher’s aide, and, furthermore, with a speech pathologist and an occupational therapist.

Whoa.  Color me impressed.

Of course, also color me frantic when I found out that this meant that kindergarden actually starts a week later than the remainder of school, and my previously scheduled work start date of 8/20 would have been better to be 8/27.  Eeek!  A little bit of information on the school district website would have been helpful in clarifying that for those of us who didn’t have a clue…

So the dotter’s Roll-In appointment happened to be Thursday morning at 9 a.m.

It just so happens that I was being ferried to the hospital in an ambulance at 2 a.m. Thursday morning, and by 9 a.m. was hooked up to a variety of monitoring machinery in my hospital room.  But, whilst being x-rayed and poked and prodded and hyperventilating, I bravely whispered to OmegaDad, “The child…the child…”, my voice trailing off as my leaden-colored hand slid slowly off his forearm and hung limply off the gurney.

Er.  Ahem.  Well, I did tell him that he must be there at school at 9 a.m., dotter in tow, that the teacher’s name was Miss Sara Shoehorn or some such thing, that the room number was #4 (I thought), and he had to comb the dotter’s hair before he went there.

OmegaDad reminds me that I combed her hair, because he brought her in to the hospital before trotting off to the school.  It seems I have the Magic Combing Touch (which surprises the heck out of me, because in the normal run of things, the dotter howls, squeals, yanks her head out from under my trying-to-be-gentle hands, and gives every impression that I am torturing her mercilessly).  OmegaDad informs me that the dotter told him, quite sternly, “You don’t know how to do it.”

Anyway, dad and dotter made it to meet Miss Footlocker, and dad reports that the dotter was quite well-behaved.

I find it interesting that there are such widely varied approaches to bringing new students into the fold.  Julie’s experience is one end of the spectrum; ours (so far) has been at the other end.

But I still have to meet Miss Footfetish.