Two weeks ago was my last day, for the foreseeable future, waking up at 5:30 am to go to the Russian school. These past two weeks I only had to get up at 6 am. In September, we are moving to the evening program. Our classes will start at 5 pm and end at 7 pm. We will be with the bigger kids, the ones that go to school all day and come to the Russian school afterward.
A lot has changed since we began coming to the school when Polina was three and a half. When we started coming, she rarely talked or even wanted to talk. Today, at age six years and 9 days, she is a leader in her class. When we first came she didn’t want me to leave her in the classroom. Now she finds me on the rare occasion when something is awry or to give me a hug, but eagerly runs back to her class.
In the course of three and a half years, she has become a fluent reader in Russian, developed beautiful cursive handwriting, able to sight read and play the piano with both hands, and to solve word problems requiring addition and subtraction. When I look back on the girl that I knew back then, I am proud of the growth we have achieved. It has been work, and there have been several low points when I wondered if I wouldn’t be better off getting a job and transferring my paycheck to a private school. When my husband saw things weren’t going well he threw up his arms and said we should send her to public school. Instead of feeling supported, I faced opposition, and in the short term, I did want to throw in the towel.
But I kept the routine going. Whereas before Polina resisted doing homework, now she knows we do it in the morning after breakfast. It has become so routine that sometimes I do dishes while she works nearby.
“Everyone has a job to do,” I tell her.
Our homework is done days before it’s due, freeing up time for fun without schoolwork hanging over our heads. We have a routine of play dates and park days and free time, which she usually spends in the yard digging and forming structures with rocks, playing with the cat, picking strawberries or tomatoes, or climbing our rhododendron trees.
At the start of our morning adventures I would scamper to have Polina dressed and her lunch ready. Polina would have a tantrum when I woke her up, and no amount of coaxing would get her to bed on time. She would resist when I tried to get her dressed and think it was funny. Now, Polina wakes up by herself or with my gentle nudging and dresses by herself while I get ready. Before, I would forget to bring one thing or another. Now, my wallet, phone, and computer is in my backpack the night before. Polina’s school binder is by my keys. I make her lunch and grab my tea like a pro. I’m in the car ready to go and Polina doesn’t have to ask me if I forgot anything.
After 3.5 years I know what lanes are faster on the interstate. For some reason, the geniuses at the Department of Transportation thought it would be a great idea to converge four lanes down to two. Obviously there is a bottle neck there every morning. But I know the left lane moves faster, even though there are places that make it seem like the right one should. I know once it fans out to three lanes seven miles later the middle lane is faster than the left or right lanes. Sometimes I adjust, but driving this route for one of the last times at that time of the day brought up some instinctively knowledge that I hadn’t properly acknowledged.
I know where the cops hide, waiting to ticket someone for improperly using the HOV lane.
This Thursday will be my last early morning trip. I will miss seeing the sunrise in early spring and fall. I will miss the darkness in the dead of winter and seeing other people’s headlights, which my idealistic mind interprets as a solidarity. I will miss being the first one in school and the teacher starting her lesson with Polina 1-1.
A chapter of our lives has come to an end and a new one is beginning. Goodbye rush hour traffic, hello reverse commute. Goodbye 1-1 instruction, hello 1st grade.
