I’ve spent the last two weeks working through a unit on colors at the preschool. Today, in a lesson I was scheduled to repeat with two more classes on Friday, I read My Many Colors to the two-year-old class. It’s a lesser known Dr. Seuss poem that illustrates each mood with an animal and a color.

You can soar like a blue bird, kick up your heels like a red horse, buzz around like a busy yellow bee, or be a cheerful orange circus clown. Cute, right? I mean, you can’t actually see the book, but you can probably imagine it. What I did not notice until reading the story Monday is that two of the story’s three negative colors potentially relate to people: purple was a sad cloud, brown was a low and depressed bear, and black was an angry and howling wolf.

I was halfway through the “low, low, low” brown page when I looked up at some of the brown faces in the room and felt an ocean of regret wash over me. Then I got to “angry, growling, howling” black and felt even worse. In fact, by black I was wondering if I could rewrite the story to have a beautiful, fast, and strong panther represent the color without the kids noticing that the words didn’t match the picture.

Kids are pretty smart, so I turned my attention to how I could fix the book for my next class. I wasn’t at a loss for black animal ideas, but finding art to match the book’s style was going to be tricky. By Thursday night, I decided that I either needed to let it go and read the book as is or find a new book. It didn’t take long to decide: How could I look at the sweet brown faces in my classes—faces that range from cafe au lait to ebony—and read a story where brown and black colors are bad?

Thankfully, Eric Carl’s Brown Bear Brown Bear was sitting on my shelf, and in that book all colors are equal. Problem mostly solved, but I’m still inwardly cringing over Monday. I’m also still surprised by it. Why make a happy horse red, a color that horses don’t come in, in when you could make the horse brown or black, which are two colors they do come in? Why not save angry red for fire ants? This problem could have been—and with the right editor should have been—a very easy one to avoid.

On the other hand, tonight I have logged a considerable amount of time hunting for an old favorite, a book called The Difficult Child. When I last dipped into Stanley Turecki’s book, I was looking for solutions to Simon’s problems with change, timidity, and noise sensitivity. These days, Simon is pretty much the easiest kid around. But some of those 2-to-5-year-olds I’m getting to know? Whoo Boy!

Some kids are attention hogs. Some kids are super aggressive and have to win or go first at all times. Some kids are super physical and have a hard time sitting still and keeping their hands to themselves. Some kids have a hard time paying attention. Some kids are slow to catch on. Some kids are goofs. These traits are all normal and expected, and I feel confident I can learn more about them and develop strategies for management over time. I’m not sweating the quirks.

Then there are the children who have clinical diagnoses. These kids have extra support; I just stay out of the way, let the experts deal with them, and try to get them to participate and have a good time at whatever level they can. I’m not sweating these kids either.

Then there are the oppositional/defiant kids. Just today, I asked one child to put his crayon down. No go. Then I explained that I was being polite but that I was telling this child to put the crayon down. No go. Then I explained that I was going to count to three and “help” the child put the crayon down if said child did not do so. Still nothing. Then I reached for the crayon and had the child physically fight me over it. Being 42, I am possessed of greater hand strength than a preschooler. I prevailed. But I can’t help but think that I won using improper tactics. There’s got to be a better way when a child old enough to know better (two-year-olds don’t count) is defiant in the face of authority and continues to grab, hit, throw food, not share supplies, etc. I need to learn that better way fast. I’m sweating over defiance.

Most disturbing of all, there are the kids who are downright mean. I honestly didn’t think kids like this existed. I figured most “meanness” in childhood was really immaturity, a cry for attention, and the like. But what to think when certain children regularly say and do hurtful things to others and show no remorse when their victims cry? Are they all being raised by mean parents and/or suffering from undiagnosed psychological or medical problems?

Perhaps so. I hope so! I’d love to think that all of these kids can get over being mean with the proper interventions. However, that does me little good. I’m not a pediatrician or clinical psychiatrist. I’m not even full-time at school. My time and resources are limited when it comes to correcting poor behavior in the classroom. But I’m not willing to sit back and let kids be mean to their peers, and I’m not going to allow bullying on my watch. Nor do I want to become a bully myself. That means that my current teaching challenge is to figure out how to treat hateful behavior while maintaining empathy for the hateful child.

To be honest, this is a tall challenge for me. I have a hard time with mean. I hope Stanley Turecki can come through for me now as he did three years ago. And by all means, if anyone reading this is sitting on ideas or suggested reads, please do speak up.

Coda: Lest I sound overly negative, let me also state that some of the kids I’m getting to know are so sweet, bright, and/or funny that I’d love to take them home with me. From a blogging perspective, however, these children are boring.

Left: Dressed for first day at KIP. Right: At spring program last week.

As of today at 1:00 p.m., Simon will no longer be a preschooler. Today is his last day ever at KIP, a fact that I’m resigned to but not overwhelmingly happy about. For as much as we’re both excited about kindergarten, new friends, and all the amazing things he’ll learn next year, this place has been his home for four years. He’s known every nook and cranny of the building, been familiar with every teacher, and grown up alongside most of his classmates.

And I have had the security of knowing that the teachers there have understood Simon, cared about him, and treated him like family. It’s hard to say goodbye to a place like that. Thankfully, I won’t be saying goodbye to everyone. Three others will be at Brandeis next year, and Simon will be doing some camp sessions with two friends this summer. There’s also the matter of the KIP website, which I have yet to train staff to update and take over. It’s the digital lipstick left in the metaphoric car and a guarantee that I’ll see some of these familiar faces a little longer.

But it won’t be the same. So thank you, KIP, for all that you taught my son: lining up, sitting down, and colors in the Itsy Bitsies; sequencing, social skills, and how to hook your thumbs in your undies to pull them up in the Twos; cutting, the alphabet, Spanish, and how to hold a pencil in the Threes; and basic reading and math, some history, biology and nature, and a host of other subjects too long to name in the amazing Fours. If he’s ready for kindergarten, it’s because of you, especially Ms. Andrea and Ms. Diana this year.

Ready or not, he officially becomes a kindergartener today. Let the adventure begin!

So it happened that last Friday I checked our mail, found the acceptance letter from Brandeis, felt the initial surge of joy that came with getting into our first pick of elementary schools, and then ran off to pick up Simon and tell him the good news. At which point I pulled into the KIP parking lot, keyed in our security code, realized I’d only be there for three more weeks, and burst into tears.

Next year is going to be a big adjustment for more than just Simon. He’s going to have to get used to a longer ride, a longer day, a larger class, and lots of new people. And I’m going to have to adjust to letting go, as something tells me that the teachers don’t want me in their class every morning watching the kids settle in and making small talk. Nor will Simon be walking down halls he’s known for four years, past teachers who took care of him like family, and past some teachers and staff who have known me since I was at KIP myself.

Some friendships will be changing as well. Which brings me to a story I somehow never got to this year. The day after Halloween, Simon’s best friend Baron, his inseparable buddy since the end of the Itsy Bitsy class and the friend who left KI for another preschool this year, came back. He never quite settled into his new school, and after one particularly telling visit his parents decided to transfer him back to KI for his last year of preschool. He wasn’t placed in Simon’s class as there wasn’t an open seat, but the two boys would still see each other at lunch, on the playground, and during the classes’ shared activities.

It was a very happy reunion, with both boys delighted to be back in each other’s daily lives. Baron would come over to Simon’s class to say hi and give him a hug every morning, and they chased each other like crazy on the playground. The only real downside was that Simon’s other great friend, Braylon, had became Simon’s best school friend in Baron’s absence and felt threatened at his return. Simon didn’t know how to negotiate two best friendships, there was some competition for his attention, and feelings were hurt.

Then the story took an unexpected turn: Baron found a new best friend in his own class, and it’s Simon who’s left behind. I’m not sure how acutely Simon is feeling the pinch, as when he’s told me that Baron has a new best friend, he’s pretty matter-of-fact about it. Like two weeks ago, when I reminded him to wish Baron a happy birthday and give him a hug at school, this is what I heard back:

“Mommy, I told Baron happy birthday and went to give him a hug, but I couldn’t really do it because he was playing with Keon. I think Keon is Baron’s best friend now.”

I wasn’t sure how to feel or what to say in return. Was he upset? Did he need a hug? Or is Simon OK with this? He seems OK, but I wouldn’t be and it’s hard not to project my own feelings on the situation.

The funny thing about this is that I’m surprised and saddened by something that I should have seen coming. Simon is six months older than Baron and has a very different temperament. Baron is all about superheroes, video games, and chasing, while Simon is a little about superheroes, but much more into role-playing and organized sports. Baron finds some of school boring and hard to focus on; Simon loves school and hangs on to every lesson. Baron won’t play with girls (except one who also left last year); Simon loves to dance with Jillian, work on class projects with Nyankot, and counts Caroline and Ruby among his best friends. Simon wants to play basketball with Braylon and the kindergarten boys when they are on the playground, but Baron just wants to run and chase.

As does Keon, who is six months younger than Baron and has much in common with him. So I shouldn’t be surprised, except Simon and Baron were every much as opposite one another a year ago when they were totally inseparable. As Simon comes home as smiley and happy as ever, I’m not going to dig too deeply. I’m just really grateful that he’s met so many boys at basketball and soccer this year, that he will meet even more boys when baseball starts next month, and that we’ll hit the boy motherlode when kindergarten starts in the fall.

But even with all of that said and with much to look forward to, I still find the leavings, small and large alike, to be difficult, and I’ve still got a lump in my throat that isn’t going anywhere anytime soon.

It’s how he complicates them that has changed. In the winter and spring of 2007, I was packing up an infant and clearing out of the house for several hours because the noise would upset him, keep him from sleeping, and potentially hurt his ears. The issue this time around?

Simon would like to join the band, or at least practice with them. Mr. Butch (Gabrielle’s dad) graciously let Simon bang on his drums for a bit and even offered to leave behind drum sticks so Simon could play between practices. From about 6:30 last night, when we headed upstairs to let the guys talk and play, until 8:00, when Simon went to bed, I fielded the question “When can I play Mr. Butch’s drums again?” about a hundred times. Maybe more.

At about 7:30, having realized that he would not be replacing Mr. Butch on drums during practice, Simon developed another idea: He grabbed his ukelele and started to head downstairs. I couldn’t figure out a good way to incorporate a ukelele into REM’s oeuvre, so poor Simon had to play upstairs on the couch.

Butch offered that Gabrielle has her own drum set, guitar, and ukelele, so I’m wondering if for the next practice I shouldn’t arrange a concurrent KIP All-Kid Band practice. Not that they could play or anything, but I’m guessing much fun—and less frustration—would be had.

Do you recognize Simon’s costume? He’s Flash, a B-grade (C-grade?) super hero from the Justice League. Simon kept asking for him, and I kept saying “Who?” and assuming I’d be making one. Then Amazon and Google came to the rescue, telling me who Flash is/was and making it easy to find a costume. The back-story on Flash is uncommonly silly even by super-hero mythological standards. Some dullard was struck by lightning and then—Flash!—became possessed of lightning quick reflexes and super speed.

The attraction to Simon is pretty simple. This is a kid who likes to run and have us time him. “Was that 110?” he’ll ask me. Or better yet, “That time I was going one ten, one eighty, seventy-five, six hundred, a thousand million!”  If any math majors out there want to figure out what this number could possibly be, have at it.

As it happens, Simon’s affinity for Flash is as quirky as I thought, but maybe not so unexpected. When discussing Simon’s choice with my brother Steve, the fast runner, fast talker, fast everything in our family, he didn’t laugh. Nope, his response was, “Oh yeah, Flash. I always liked him.” So there it is, Simon exhibiting a rare (for him) Goldstein strain of his DNA.

We also enjoyed the gift of a low-stress launch. We knew the first year would be rough at first, and it was. We didn’t know the second year would be, but it was. Last year we feared the worst, and Simon settled in happily from the very start. This year, with another whole year of maturity and confidence under his belt, we knew Simon would head upstairs excited about his new class.

How confident were we? We were so confident that we slacked off on some basic parenting responsibilities, like getting him to bed at a decent hour. You see, last night a bunch of former UK players who are now in the pros played the Dominican national team at the new YUM! center downtown, and Simon went. The Kentucky must run deep in our DNA, as we prioritized his watching Rondo, Harrelson, Wall, and the rest over being well rested. Simon got to bed last night at around 10:15, two hours past his regular bedtime.

But it’s all cool. He might have been sleepy, but he’s still getting off to a good start. For starters, there’s the school director Shary. Simon has known her for a long time now; she’s like family. Here’s how they greeted each other:

And for seconders, Ms. Andrea remembered Simon’s hand sign (a “W” for Whitworth) from when we stopped by to see his room last week while the teachers were setting up, and she flashed it as a greeting. That was enough right there to take her from “new teacher” to “good friend.”

I have a strong feeling that, even Baron-less, this will be Simon’s best year yet.

As it happens, though, the most dreaded split of all—the one from best-buddy Baron—is coming earlier than anticipated. Baron’s mom is expecting a baby in November, and she’s opted to move Baron and Asher to a new school. AJ has a new infant program that will allow all three of her kids to be in the same school from January, when the new baby will be six weeks old, until May, when school ends for the year.

AJ is Agotich’s school, and Asher will be in her class, but that’s not going to be much of a balm for Simon’s heart. I’ve had little to worry about this past year, as Simon has done well academically and socially. He’s happily trotted off to school each day, had a great time, and learned tons. Next year was supposed to be more of the same, but now I’m not so sure.

The boys at KIP are just so thin on the ground.* Second-best friend Aciek will be back repeating the threes next year, as he’s a year younger than Simon and was only in the threes last year because of space constraints.** Kamal, who I began to hear a fair bit about towards the end of the year, has moved with his family to Paris. That leaves Simon, Griffen, Brian, Logan, Keon, and Braylon as the six boys to be split among two classes next year. Simon wasn’t in Griffen’s class last year, and he’s never been in a class with Brian, Logan, or Keon.

Friend-wise, we’re right back at the beginning. The girls are no help to me, either. One on one, Simon plays well with lots of them. He loves Ruby and Caroline and Gabrielle and Jillian and Anieya and Lily and others. But once it’s time for group free play, KIP looks a lot like Saudi Arabia or a middle-school dance: all the girls on one side of the room and all the boys on the other.

The last time Simon was separated from Baron, in the Twos, he pined for him and didn’t really bond with the other (totally sweet) boy in his class. This social disorientation is exactly what I don’t want to see and fear will repeat. We’re three weeks away from what may well be Simon’s last year at KIP, and I was looking forward to his best year yet.

I’ve already had a chat with Shary about this to vent my spleen. I would have felt slightly bad about being so needy two years ago when I envisioned her keeping a file on me, but by now I’ve served as school treasurer, helped with fundraisers, subbed in the computer lab, built the school website, and otherwise earned a little face-time. She did her best to encourage me, saying that Simon will make friends and do just fine in either class next year.

“You’re worried about Simon?” she exclaimed. “Simon is the last kid at this school I’m worried about. He’s confident, popular, and smart. He’ll have a great year.”

I hope she’s right. Also, how lovely to hear this when just two short years ago everyone seemed to be worried about Simon.

*It’s not just at KIP. AJ also sports a dearth of boys in Simon’s age range. Unless all the boys are at day-care or different schools, I can’t figure it out.

** KIP does not make it a practice to put kids in the wrong class! When Aciek’s parents and adoptive grandparents looked into preschool for him, the Twos class was already over capacity. Since Aciek was only one year out of Kenya (his dad is a Lost Boy), was not yet fluent in English, and had had no Western-style socialization, Shary decided he could jump into the Threes, where there was space. There he learned how to make friends and follow instructions, and became fluent in English. Now he’s ready to repeat the year and follow the curriculum as designed.

Thus, I smiled when Diana told me last week that the boys—Simon, Baron, Braylon, and Aciek—got in trouble for throwing rocks at each other and at the fence on the playground. Throwing rocks sounds like a fine activity for four-year-old boys. I understand that the teachers can’t let them do it on the playground, but I was happy to hear that rock throwing took place.

Better still, today I was pleased to witness first-hand Simon not only being disobedient, but also sneaky about it. Summer camp days start with free play in the school auditorium. This is a biggish space with a smallish number of kids in it. The normal routine is that the big girls play house or do arts, the little kids take things from each other and cry (I’m sure they do other stuff, too, but I mostly see toddler grabbing drama), and the big boys run and chase each other. The problem is that running is not allowed.

And I guess I can kind of see why. It would be easy for a kid to fall, trip, or even trample an Itsy Bitsie. Except… no, in my heart of hearts I think it’s a stupid, unrealistic rule. How can you put a group of boys in a big room for “free play” and not expect them to run? Doesn’t that amount to entrapment? The auditorium begs to be run in; running will be had in that room.

So this morning, when I dropped Simon off I witnessed the usual tableaux. Ms. Inessa and Ms. Lana were taking care of distraught toddlers; the other teachers were talking to each other about schedules and logistics; Greta and Ruby were playing dress-up/make-believe games; and Simon, Baron, Aciek, and Lily began their chasing game. At which point in time Ms. Andi, the camp director, turned around and barked:

“Simon and Baron! What have I told you about running? No running!”

It was reasonable enough. Except for the part where I think the rule is unenforceable and silly in the first place.* What came next made my whole morning. Simon and Baron froze in their tracks. Aciek and Lily scampered off elsewhere. Then, just when Ms. Andi turned her back to talk to Ms. Melinda, Baron took off in a sprint. Simon, who is by nature more obedient than Baron, flitted like a dancer across the room, pausing at intervals to look over his shoulder and check that the teachers still had their backs to him.

So he was willing to disobey, but not so excited about being caught. This was probably one of those teachable moments when I should have intervened and reinforced the teachers’ rules. Instead, I flashed him a sly smile to match his  own and left the room. I didn’t linger long enough to find out if he was caught breaking the rules, but I sure hope not.

*For the record, I have not shared this opinion with Simon. I think the rule is silly, but I’m not going to undermine his teachers’ authority about it. I’ll save that bit of bad behavior for a time when the stakes are higher.

Ms. Tammy at KIP has a thing for sweet boys and has been Simon’s rock at school this year, which ends this Friday. Tammy was the one who just over a year ago told me how much she loved Simon and what a good person he was, leading me to request her as his teacher. She and Ms. Shana have not disappointed!

A month or so ago, Tammy and I found ourselves joking about the fact that she and Simon share a favorite lunch spot, Panera. I upped the ante and suggested Simon “take her out” one night, and was surprised when Tammy enthusiastically replied that she’d love a dinner and park or zoo trip with him. How could I possibly refuse an offer like that?

So yesterday at four, I combed Simon’s hair, washed his face and hands, and reminded him to use his good manners. I considered sending him with some cash in his Lightening McQueen wallet, but didn’t think he’d remember when the time came or understand what “picking up the check” meant. He did, however, remember his directions. When Tammy and her daughter left Panera and suggested an ice cream spot, Simon asked for Ce Fiore.

“Se what? I don’t know that place, Simon” Tammy replied.

“It’s on Eastern Parkway,” Simon offered, “I can get you there.”

And he probably could have! Tammy tells me the whole car roared at this moment, and that her daughter won’t let her live down that one of her students has a better sense of direction than she does. I’ll probably post a summary of this year in the Ms. Shana and Ms. Tammy’s Threes, but if I don’t, I think this little story sums the year up quite nicely. How lucky are we all to have had such a wonderful year that one of Simon’s teachers wanted to spend more time with him in the very last week. I’m optimistic that summer camp and the Fours will go well, but this year—and Ms. Tammy–are going to be tough acts to follow.