Before school started

On Sunday, February 12, we went to the kindergarten at 2:30 p.m. for the parents’ meeting and brought along Little Bear’s bedding as instructed. The new students’ cots were still drying upstairs, so we still didn’t know exactly where she would be sleeping at nap time.

The meeting itself did not begin until 3:00 and dragged on until nearly 5:00 with what felt like a great deal of not-very-useful information. Afterward, we walked around Little Bear’s classroom a few more times. Her head teacher and the other teachers looked much younger than we had imagined, probably around twenty. Even the principal seemed to be only about thirty. The head teacher had a round face and a constant smile, and she looked like someone with a very gentle temperament.

Before school began, we washed all of Little Bear’s bedding and sewed on the name labels we had bought online ahead of time. We also labeled her backpack, sun hat, and the Tiger-brand lion-patterned insulated water bottle that hillway had spent several hundred yuan on for her. We prepared the other supplies the kindergarten required as well: sketch paper, fine-line pens, glue sticks, scissors, origami paper, lightweight clay, a smock, and more.

Monday, February 13: the first day

Kindergarten started at last. I said to hillway that from today onward, Little Bear had officially begun what would probably be at least twenty years of schooling.

That morning, hillway first drove Little Bear’s grandpa to the airport. After he returned, he and Little Bear’s maternal grandmother and paternal grandmother took her to school together. When they left, she was busy playing with things in the classroom and did not cry.

At that point, parents did not yet have access to the classroom surveillance feed. We were told it would not be opened until two weeks after the semester began. The teachers would occasionally post short clips to social media, but naturally those were filmed when the children were doing relatively well, and each clip was only a few seconds long. What the rest of the day looked like, we had no real way of knowing. Every so often I would open WeChat and look for updates, trying hard to pick Little Bear out from among all the other children.

At around 2:00 p.m., her teacher called and briefly described how the morning had gone. Our biggest fear had been that she would cry or make a scene. According to the teacher, she had not really done that, but she was not very cooperative. She would not hold onto the other children’s clothes as instructed. At lunch, the teacher had to feed her. In one of the videos, all the children were sitting in a circle on the floor while Little Bear wandered around instead.

At 4:30 in the afternoon, her grandmothers picked her up. On the way home, she burst into tears and said, “I couldn’t hold it and peed my pants.” It was probably after nap time, and the teacher had not noticed. We also heard that she had cried on and off in a quiet way during part of the afternoon, perhaps because being in wet pants had made her uncomfortable.

Once home, she drank a lot of water and ate some crackers, which made it obvious that she was both thirsty and hungry.

That night she was unusually excited and did not fall asleep until after 10:00. When we asked about her day, she could not explain it very clearly. Instead, she had everyone sit properly so she could act out the teacher giving a lesson, then announced that she would go to kindergarten again tomorrow. At least on the surface, she did not seem resistant to school.

Tuesday, February 14: the feelings start to show

On her second day, she was still very well-behaved when dropped off. At noon, though, the teacher reported that she would not eat lunch and was still awake at 2:00 p.m., playing in bed instead of sleeping.

When I told hillway, he suggested asking whether we should pick her up earlier. I was worried she would go hungry too, but at the same time it felt like she needed time to slowly adapt to kindergarten life. Children grow up by degrees. Eventually they have to leave the shelter of home and step out into the wider world on their own.

Compared with many of the other children, Little Bear was actually a little older when she started. She was already three years and four months old. We had deliberately chosen to let her join the younger class midyear because we hated to think of her losing her freedom too early and wanted her to enjoy another half year of carefree life at home.

When she came back that afternoon, we asked why she had not eaten lunch. She replied with complete seriousness: “The kindergarten food doesn’t taste good. The other children ate it. They think it tastes good, but I think it doesn’t.”

At pickup time, her two grandmothers had lined up early and were first in the parents’ queue. We heard that she had been sitting at a small table playing with blocks, and when she saw them outside the classroom she waved to the teacher to signal that her people had arrived. Worried she must be hungry, her maternal grandmother had brought a thermos container of cooked noodles and fed them to her. At least this day she did not wet her pants.

By the time I got home from work, she seemed to be in decent shape. These first two days, once she came home, she became almost hyper-talkative and spoke nonstop, as if all the energy she had been holding in during the day burst out at once. After we went to choose maternity photos and came home, Xiaomigua cooked a few dumplings and fed her again.

But later that night, after drinking milk and lying quietly in bed for a while, her mood suddenly sank. She said to us, “Daddy, Mommy, I’m not going to kindergarten today, okay?” She still did not really understand the difference between today, tomorrow, and the day after, so what she meant was obvious enough. We asked why, but she could not explain it clearly. As we gently continued asking, tears silently began to run down her face.

Seeing how pitiful she looked, hillway and I said, “Okay, you won’t go today.” I quickly had hillway take her to brush her teeth so she would shift her attention. Even after brushing, she still remembered to separately inform both grandmothers that she was not going to kindergarten “today,” as if she needed everyone’s confirmation that the decision had been made.

Thinking back to my own school days, I could not help imagining that for her, each day there must feel unbearably long.

She fell asleep after 10:00, but even in sleep she kept making uneasy little sounds, as if something was weighing on her mind. Eventually hillway carried her over to the big bed and tucked her into my quilt. She looked exhausted, but still could not settle. Every so often she called for “Mama.” We played bedtime stories for her, and she did not truly fall asleep until after midnight.

After just two days, all the crying had already made the skin on her little cheeks look less smooth, and her complexion seemed darker and more sallow. Xiaomigua said that these last two days, from worrying about Little Bear, she had barely slept at noon or at night either.

Wednesday, February 15: refusal begins in earnest

Because she had gone to sleep so late the night before, she no longer woke up on her own before 8:00 as usual and instead slept past eight. Her maternal grandmother said she cried much harder that morning and flatly refused to go to kindergarten. In the end, she was not dropped off until after 9:00.

When the teacher later posted a video of the children doing outdoor group activities, we could not find Little Bear anywhere. Another video followed, this one of the class singing indoors while seated in a circle. At first we still could not spot her. Then on closer inspection, there she was—sitting in the teacher’s lap. Clearly she was still unwilling to follow instructions or join the group normally.

At work, my lunch break came late because of a meeting. I had only just finished eating and lain down for a nap when the kindergarten teacher called around 1:20 p.m. For the previous three days, the teacher had been contacting me between 1:00 and 2:00 each day, and I had become so anxious about missing a call or message about Little Bear that even my midday rest was no longer restful.

The teacher said Little Bear still would not eat lunch. The other children all ate at least a little, but she refused. She had cried for a while after being dropped off that morning, then stopped, but kept telling the teacher she wanted to go home to find Grandma and Nana. After we hung up, the teacher sent a video over WeChat showing that she had finally fallen asleep.

That afternoon, Little Bear’s paternal grandmother had been invited to play mahjong with some older women in the neighborhood and apparently had a wonderful time. So Xiaomigua went alone to pick up Little Bear and brought along the cupcake that had been promised the day before. With Xiaomigua staying with her, she ate and played at the kindergarten for a while, and they did not leave until 5:30.

That evening, while hearing us talk about her school situation, she looked visibly sad. She probably remembered how she had felt there and nearly pleaded with us: “I’m not going to kindergarten anymore, okay?” We did not want her to become so upset that she would sleep badly again, but we also did not want to lie to her, so we could only try to steer the conversation elsewhere. She fell asleep after 10:00.

Thursday, February 16: the lunch problem becomes the biggest worry

That morning she woke up refusing to go to kindergarten again. She drank half a carton of milk and ate one steamed bun. Then her maternal grandmother and paternal grandmother took a divide-and-conquer approach and physically carried her there, handing her over directly to the teacher. Naturally, there were tears.

By then, we had noticed that when the teachers posted videos, she usually was not crying much once she was actually at school. The biggest headache was no longer the crying but the fact that she would not eat lunch.

The night before, when we had asked whether she had eaten at noon, she had still insisted, “The kindergarten food doesn’t taste good.” So after thinking it over for a long time, her maternal grandmother got up that morning and made an egg pancake, packed it into a thermos container, and told the teacher that if Little Bear refused the school lunch again, she could try giving her that instead.

Her difficulty adjusting was affecting all of us. She did not want to go to school, her mood was low, and we became worried and gloomy right along with her. At noon I found myself constantly thinking about whether she had eaten and whether she had slept. I tossed and turned and barely napped, then spent the rest of the afternoon feeling heavy-headed.

By 2:30 there had still been no call from the teacher, and I began to hope that maybe she had quietly eaten lunch for once. But when her maternal grandmother went to pick her up at 4:30—while her paternal grandmother, still in fine spirits, had gone off again to play mahjong with the neighborhood aunties—the teacher explained that Little Bear still had not eaten a single bite. She had refused even the egg pancake.

At home that evening she no longer had the keyed-up energy of the first few days. She was much quieter and looked thinner and more yellow in the face. Before leaving work, hillway and I had already agreed that once we got home we would stop talking about kindergarten in front of her so as not to stir up more unhappy feelings. Even so, from time to time she still said things like, “I’m not going to kindergarten anymore, okay?”

She also barely ate dinner at home, though several different people took turns trying to feed her. Around 8:00 p.m., her maternal grandmother cooked dumplings for her, but she would not eat those either. In the end, she was finally persuaded to eat some tangyuan.

At around 8:00 that night, the kindergarten teacher contacted us on her own initiative to discuss the ongoing lunch problem. We were starting to feel completely helpless. Even at home, Little Bear had always eaten slowly and not very much. Usually she ate only after the rest of us were done, with someone patiently coaxing her over a long period of time. But kindergarten follows a fixed schedule: everyone eats together, then lies down for a nap. The teacher simply could not spend more than an hour feeding her patiently the way her grandmother could.

The teacher said it might take Little Bear longer than other children to adapt. She suggested that the next day we put milk and bread in her backpack and said she would spend extra time and attention observing her.

We kept encouraging and praising Little Bear, hoping she would adapt quickly and come to like kindergarten. But that was something only she herself could do. None of us could attend school in her place, and none of us could eat lunch for her. Most of the time, Xiaomigua and I were left with nothing but worry.

At least by then she had gone three days without wetting her pants.

Friday, February 17: the first real improvement

At 7:30 that morning, she woke up asking for her maternal grandmother and still refused to go to kindergarten. She barely touched her egg fried rice. Then both grandmothers took her to a bakery near the residential compound, let her choose some bread, and put it into her backpack before taking her to school. She was handed over to the teacher in tears once again.

During work, the teacher posted a few videos. We managed to spot Little Bear in one or two of them. Some children were jumping around happily, full of spirit, while she quietly trailed behind at a slow pace, looking dispirited. Still, she was not crying.

At around 1:00 p.m., I called the teacher myself to ask about lunch. The teacher said that at first she had still refused to eat and kept saying she wanted to go home and find Grandma. Then the teacher coaxed her, saying that she could go find Grandma only after she ate. She managed to feed her a bite, asked whether it tasted good, and Little Bear did not answer. But after more coaxing, she eventually ate a whole bowl of porridge. Hearing that, I finally felt at least a little relief.

At pickup time, the teacher told her maternal grandmother that she had also eaten a piece of bread in the afternoon. When she got home, Xiaomigua noticed that her pants had been changed. It turned out that she had wet herself again, and the teacher had washed the soiled pants and packed them into her backpack.

That day she earned a little red flower sticker with the word “Progress” written on it. She had probably been praised by the teacher, and perhaps that improved her mood as well. That night, the energetic Little Bear seemed to be returning, and all of us felt much lighter too.

We thought the little red flower meant she was finally starting to adjust and maybe even like kindergarten. But that evening, while sitting quietly on the toilet by herself, she thought about school again and said sadly, “I’m not going to kindergarten anymore, okay?”

I told her that the next two days would be the weekend, that Mommy and Daddy would not be working either, and that we would take her to the park to ride the carousel and have a change of scene.

Even though we were very curious about what exactly happened during her school days, we had become cautious. We did not dare ask her too many questions or discuss school much around her, for fear of pulling her back into those unhappy feelings.

Before bed, Xiaomigua gave her a long bath.

In the middle of the night, she suddenly woke up and sat upright. When we asked what was wrong, she sleepily murmured, “Not going to school, okay?” After that, she kept making restless little sounds on and off for the rest of the night, probably dreaming about school again. It was obvious that for a three-year-old, adapting to a strange place filled with unfamiliar teachers and children would take time.

Saturday, February 18: a much-needed break

She fell asleep at 10:00 the night before and woke at 7:00 in the morning. Even though she was up early, she did not look very energetic and had a stuffy nose.

Breakfast included egg fried rice, red date congee, and fried dumplings, but she refused all of it. We tried feeding her for a long time with no success, and she would not drink milk either. Eventually, after dragging things out until around 9:00, she seemed a bit more alert and ate a few dumplings and drank a few sips of milk, then stopped again.

Once she had at least something in her stomach, we set out for Jinsa Park. We bought a 100-yuan amusement ticket, and with hillway beside her she finally got to ride the carousel she had been longing for for a very long time. She also rode a spinning bee ride with Xiaomigua, and later, very bravely, rode the circular little train all by herself. Everyone praised her for making progress.

She rode three amusement attractions in a row and still looked eager for more. Worried that too much at once might make her dizzy, we took her to a nearby McDonald’s for a hamburger and fries, bought her a candied hawthorn skewer, and then returned to the park. She and Xiaomigua also rode the slow sightseeing car suspended in the air. By then it was nearly 1:00 p.m., and however reluctant she was to leave, it was time to go home for lunch.

After her nap, hillway took her downstairs in the residential compound to play with a bubble gun while the three of us stayed home making dumplings. She ate an entire bowl of dumplings, which felt like a real victory.

After dinner, we took her out again to play for a while at the Blue Spirit children’s play area in CP Plaza. When we got back, Xiaomigua cooked crucian carp soup for her.

That night, after she fell asleep, she coughed a little. Her nose sounded blocked, and she slept restlessly, sitting up once or twice. Hillway carried her to the big bed to sleep with him and, according to him, woke up to check on her every time she stirred. He did not sleep well either.

Sunday, February 19: getting sick before the second week

Because of her stuffy nose, runny nose, and mild cough, she sat up a little after 7:00 in the morning and refused to lie back down. My own throat was hurting badly too.

At 8:00, hillway went to the market with his mother to buy groceries. I fed Little Bear 120 milliliters of milk. I assumed she would not eat breakfast after that, but then she went on to eat a bowl of red date porridge too. One of the things that made us happiest these days was simply seeing her eat.

At noon she had a bowl of shrimp and tofu soup and then another bowl of rice. She still had a runny nose from time to time, but overall she seemed to be in pretty good spirits.

Nap time was harder. Because of the congestion, she still seemed quite uncomfortable in her sleep. She sweated heavily, soaking her clothes and hair, though after a while she gradually slept more peacefully. Since she was not feeling well, we did not wake her, and she slept until it was nearly dark.

That evening, the kindergarten teacher contacted me asking for digital photos of Little Bear’s guardians so they could make her pickup cards. The fee was 70 yuan, and we were told new cards had to be made every semester. Since neither of her grandmothers had digital passport-style photos ready, hillway proposed using a bright red quilt as an improvised backdrop and taking pictures on the spot.

Hillway stood in the living room for a long time holding the heavy double quilt while both grandmothers fussed in their rooms changing clothes and combing their hair, until he finally started howling dramatically in protest. After that, everyone took turns standing on a stool and stretching the quilt into place as a background. The whole photography session was so ridiculous that we all laughed until we cried.

But by nightfall, Little Bear was still sniffling, coughing a little, and dealing with nasal congestion, so we asked the kindergarten for one day of leave.

One week in, what remained

The first week of kindergarten did not unfold the way adults like to imagine these milestones. There were no smooth goodbyes followed by instant adjustment, no dramatic transformation after a few days. Instead there were wet pants, skipped meals, short videos that revealed very little, bedtime anxiety, middle-of-the-night murmurs about not going to school, and parents and grandparents worrying right alongside a child who could not yet fully explain what she was feeling.

Still, there were also signs—small, but real. She stopped crying so much once inside the classroom. She eventually ate a bowl of porridge. She earned a little red flower for “Progress.” She still acted out her teacher’s lessons at home. She kept going.

For a three-year-old, entering a completely unfamiliar world was always going to take time.