08 July 2010

transitioning

Going offline for a few days, but before I do. . . . a long post:


Young One's days at the asilo / scuola materna / scuola dell'infanzia (I'm still confused of the official correct title of the 3 years of preschool) have ended. Over.  Done.  Final. Basta.  Paid the last monthly fee (hooray!).  Cleaned out the locker.  Attended the end-of-year bash. Said our tearful good-byes. Promised to pop in for visits over time.


7 dwarves
The teachers at Young One's school perform a skit at the end-of-year party.

It's time to transition to big girl school now or scuola primaria, which starts in our province in mid-September. 

I am certainly saddened by this milestone . . . and not for the reasons you may expect.  The major source of my sadness is not in "losing my baby."  No, I'm not of that sort of woman, that sort of mother.   I am grateful to have had a healthy baby who is blossoming into a beautiful little girl.  I don't bemoan her growth -- never really have.  It's impossible for me to separate the feelings without guilt taking over.   Baby photos don't make me teary-eyed; they provide me with a sense of relief and satisfaction, a feeling of "So far, so good.  How damn lucky can I get?"  It's part of living with your glass half empty at times.

snowwhite and nani

However, and this is the big HOWEVER . . . I am indeed sad.  I am deeply saddened by the simple fact that we -- me, Richard, and Young One -- are losing the women:  Lavinia, Elena, Marta, Arianna, Samantha, Adrianna, Laura, Chiara, Veronica, Erminia, Chiara G., and even Eleanora & Sylvia -- the 2 shrewd business women who run the show, and, especially -- Marzia.   The very women who for the past five years have daily raised my daughter in my absence. The woman who have loved her unconditionally.  The women who have stood in, in the absence of grandmothers and aunts nearby and who know her better than anyone in our family.   The women who have patiently accepted me as I have fumbled one time after another through the Italian culture.  The women whose influence will surely follow my little girl throughout her life, even if indirectly and unknown.  This the only source of my sadness. 

md and marzia 2
Marzia has been Young One's teacher for the 3 years of preschool.

But just like a mother whose sadness lies in her child "getting so big," my sadness also comes with great joy and gratitude.   These women, each very different, have made the difference in our lives in the past five years.  We are eternally grateful.  (Yep. . . blatant reference to Toy Story.)

How can I ever make them understand how important they have been to us? 

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A little slide show of the par-tay:


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WOW! -- Check it out.
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6 comments:

  1. You are so lucky to have had such a wonderful place to take your daughter each day! While it can be found here in the states it is rare and in Germany it is almost impossible. Childcare doesn't really start till 3 there and then only 1/2 day. My poor sister-in-law has had a heck of a time. She is newly divorced and this makes it even worse.

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  2. I hope your little one will find in her new elementary school teacher a source of inspiration - a different kind of inspiration: to learn and be curious and inquisitive.

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  3. We do count ourselves lucky. . . but it does indeed exist here in other asilos, I believe.

    We have our fingers (and toes) crossed for a teacher that will be a good match for our daughter.

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  4. In my experience each level of schooling has been less satisfying than the previous one. My oldest is in junior high now. Pre-school was definitely the best. I truly hope that you and your daughter will have a good elementary school experience.

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  5. Saretta,
    That doesn't sound promising, at all. Did it digress even with the same looping teacher? We are committed to keeping her in an Italian school for as long as possible; we searched far and wide for this school & hope to have made a wise choice. Immersion in the school setting is the only way for her to learn the language and culture a bit.
    Hoping for the best......
    D

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