Changes, Little and Big

It is so quiet here.  Even after we put in the double-paned windows in the Vallejo house (a purchase which yielded not a single extra penny at resale, by the way . . . . so if you’re thinking about putting in new windows, be sure you’re going to stay in the house for the rest of your life), life in Vallejo was noisy.  The freeway noise from below us, the traffic and medical helicopters above, and what seemed like the ever-present wail of some emergency vehicle or the other filling the air.  Even after the City cut emergency staff to the bare bones, it seemed like whoever was left manning the fire and police departments just enjoyed riding around town with the sirens at full volume.

Here in our new neighborhood, there is mostly silence.  There is the wind and rustling trees and birds and the sounds of people going about their business.  And the occasional far-off sound of a train whistle.  The neighbors might also comment that they now hear the sound of an idiot neighbor chanting “go potty go potty go potty go potty” to her two dogs early in the chilly mornings.  But since that’s me in my robe and slippers out there chanting to the reluctant dogs, I mostly am not aware of disturbing the peace.

And it’s dark.  Crazy dark.  There are no streetlights on our street, and the darkness is huge.  Our bedroom in Vallejo was always lit up by that horribly annoying and insanely bright sign next to the fairgrounds.  Flash flash flash.  Yes, the views from our house were amazing, but I do not miss seeing that stupid flashing sign.

It’s weird the differences you notice.  Our mail now comes to a regular mailbox (with a little red flag!) instead of being dropped into our garage through a slot.  Which, despite the inconvenience of having to walk to the end of the driveway for the mail, is actually really nice in that we no longer have to wrestle the mail away from Jack.  He was always convinced that the mailman was up to no good and that the envelopes the mailman delivered contained flattened evildoers of some sort.

And it’s also weird the differences that won’t stay in my memory.  Like where the light switches are, and which way to turn at the bottom of the stairs, and the fact that the first step out into the back yard from the laundry room is a doozy.  I hate that hideous feeling of stepping into emptiness when you were so certain your foot was going to meet solid ground.

Lots of big and little changes.  Lots of adjustments to make.

For the girls as well.  After a year and a half of home-schooling with me and her sister, 3^rd grader Kallan is finding the transition back to a regular classroom to be a bigger adjustment than she (or her mother) thought it would be.  Kallan was surprised and very upset to find herself overwhelmed and confused at her new school.  She is used to being a star student, so when she came home to sadly report that she had been kept in from recess to do work, we took action.

Kallan and I had a meeting with her teacher this afternoon to go over a list of questions we typed up of all the things Kallan didn’t understand about her new classroom and its rules.  It was a long list, running to 24 items.  It included things like, “What color box is for turning in math homework?” and “How do I get to go to the library?” and “Why don’t you like my lower case “k’s”?” and “What do you mean when you say we have to label the number sentence in math?” and “Are we allowed to take our textbooks home with us to study?”

Kallan’s teacher has a big personality and a very big voice.  Kallan refers to it as her “outside voice,” and she finds it intimidating.  I asked Kallan what voice her teacher uses when she is actually outside, and Kallan said, “her screamy across-the-playground voice.”  Sigh.  So Kallan did not want to ask her teacher questions during school, because the teacher answers everything in what Kallan perceives to be a big outside voice which (in Kallan’s mind) announces that the new girl has another dumb question.  Kallan wants desperately to stop being the new girl, so she hates having to call attention to the fact that she doesn’t know all of the details of the daily routine.

Kallan’s teacher was excellent at our meeting.  She does have a big loud voice, but she kindly answered every single one of Kallan’s questions, apologized for not realizing the extent of Kallan’s anxiety, and suggested a written method of communication if Kallan was concerned about asking her “new-girl” questions in front of everyone.  She also explained that she only kept Kallan in for recess so that she could test her on her math facts to be sure that she was on par with the rest of the class.  I guess she explained that to Kallan at the time, but Kallan didn’t hear much after, “Please stay in for recess,” which she understood to be an enormous punishment for some unexplained misbehavior.

Kallan was just giddy after our meeting.  She was especially pleased that her teacher made her a copy of the class photo so that Kallan could study the rest of the kids’ names and faces at home.  Fingers crossed for an excellent Friday.

All of this is a secret from Maj, by the way.  Kallan is angry at Maj for a variety of reasons, all of which have to do with the fact that she misses her big sister.  Kallan has gotten very accustomed to spending her school days with Maj and being treated as Maj’s equal.  It kills Kallan that Maj is so ecstatic to run off and join her 5^th grade peers.  Maj’s biggest offence?  The joy she takes in traveling to the rear of the school bus every day to sit in the “big kid” section.  Every day Kallan asks her to sit up in the front with her, and every day Maj says no.  It’s a little thing, but in sister terms, it’s huge.

It is killing Maj that she doesn’t know why Kallan and I went to school this afternoon.

Serves her right.