Hurricane HannaH: Downgraded to a Tropical Storm

As I watched Hurricane Hanna swirl counterclockwise through The Bahamas and towards America’s eastern coastline earlier this week, I couldn’t help but consider the appropriateness of her name, even if it was misspelled. School began two weeks ago and I’m cautiously optimistic that my own Hannah will imitate meteorology.

Let’s back up a little here. This is Hannah’s fourth year of preschool. Though she turns six in November and is thus old enough to begin Kindergarten, we have chosen to hold her back one more year. We made this choice primarily because, though she is the oldest in her class, she is also the shortest (genetic testing, anyone?). Maybe by next year she will be the same height as her classmates and will avoid the stigma and constant questions surrounding her short stature.

OK. Not really. I mean, yes she’s that short. No, I’m not that ridiculous…except in my imagination.

We’ve held her back for several authentic reasons. First, kindergarten is an all-day affair, five days a week. Preschool lasts three hours Monday through Thursday. Given Hannah’s inability to focus last year, kindergarten promised to be a form of legal torture for all involved and certainly not a learning experience of the good kind.

Second, at the conclusion of the past school year Hannah could only be understood by those regularly involved in her life, and even then she frequently required a translator, even for me. Woe to those who could not translate, again even for me. ESPECIALLY for me.

Third, I’m not certain Hannah was emotionally ready for kindergarten. Then again, I’m not sure she wasn’t.

I only question my decision to retain Hannah in preschool when I consider her intellect. She’s one smart little girl, a fact often disguised by her inability to express herself easily. Not only is she intelligent, but she is the most persistent, determined child I know. But enough of my subjective mommy boasting.

Over the summer Hannah’s speech improved to a level at which strangers could understand her approximately 75% of the time. It progressed so far that I no longer found it easy or cute to imitate on this blog, though that doesn’t mean I won’t. At home her meltdowns decreased, her attention span improved a smidgen (a technical term meant to be intentionally vague) and she remained accident-free (of the potty-training variety) about 85% of the time, nighttime excluded. I have high hopes for the school year.

Now we can return to present-day. My three daughters each attend a separate school, so when it’s time to pick them up at the end of the day, I zoom across town—clear across town (he he)—to three separate schools, beginning with Hannah’s.

Let me digress here and say that I learned on day one that Hannah must make a trip to the little girls’ room before leaving her school. Her bladder will not hold through the subsequent two stops and my hip joint refuses to walk the fifty yards to the building then down twelve steps to the Katie’s middle school rest room. Thank goodness I had a Pull-up in the car (bad mommy, bad mommy).

Why am I boring you with these details? To explain that I haven’t had the opportunity to chat with Hannah’s teachers after school. Consequently, I heard no bad news. No news is good news, right? Truthfully, I asked no questions and departed from Hannah’s school so quickly each day that I wasn’t certain that no news was good news. Until Tuesday when Miss Ann said that Hannah had been doing a great job so far paying attention at seatwork time.

WOO-HOO!

However, Tuesday evening at home Hannah imitated a category 5 hurricane when I relegated her to her room as punishment for picking on Hailey. While in her room she dismantled her thankfully-empty potty chair, emptied her underwear drawer, sock drawer and several off-weather-clothes drawers, and pulled the sheets off of her bed. Sometimes punishing one’s children results in worse punishment for the punisher. Did you get that? I think it really did hurt me more than it hurt her.

Despite the home hurricane incident, Wednesday I practically strutted in to get Hannah. Well, as much as one can strut when leaning on her cane. Anyhow, when I entered the school, kerPOW! No more strutting. Hannah had pottied her pants. Twice. Bummer.

Thursday passed without incident and here it is Friday. With two weeks of school behind us and only one bad day, I believe my own Hurricane Hannah is downgrading to a tropical storm. We’ll probably experience our own equivalent of high winds, flooding (hopefully not of the “number one” kind) and possible power outages, but I believe the worst is behind us.

I’m forecasting a good year.