Summer School

The Boy started summer school today and he was so excited when I told him it was time to go he couldn’t make it to the car fast enough.

When the district sent home the flyer about summer school what caught my attention about it the most was that they were doing a 2 hour reading class, it was dirt cheap and he got to eat lunch for free. So we ended up picking three classes for him. He chose gym and art (an hour each) and I chose the reading class. It’s a good compromise; he gets two hours of fun and then two solid hours of focused reading. I wanted to make sure we kept up on the reading through the summer so he didn’t back slide before starting first grade in the fall.

I just could not get over how happy he was to just to be there. He wasn’t nervous about being in classes with kids he had never met or with teachers who didn’t know his name. He didn’t even bat an eye when I told him classes would be at a different school. He practically drug me across the street to get checked in and then about ran to his first class.

It got me trying to remember if and when I ever thought about school like that. Was I ever that excited to go to school? I remember trying to get excited about it at the beginning of every school year and then having my hopes dashed by getting the mean teacher or coming face to face with problems requiring knowledge that had apparently leaked out of my ears during the long, hot summer. I remember wanting to love school and then just ending up feeling as stupid as can be within days. I never would have voluntarily signed up for summer school.

So right now, while making sure The Boy’s reading skills continue to progress is definitely a priority, I am just thrilled that he loves school. He doesn’t care what shirt he wears as long as it’s comfy. Right now showing up and learning is good enough for him and that makes me very happy indeed.