This morning, I dropped off my FOUR YEAR-OLD son at PRESCHOOL.
My carefree days of not having children in school are over (at least, for the next 20 years, give or take).
Taylor was so excited he could hardly stand it.
Last night, he mentioned his school preparedness checklist to me at least half a dozen times:
Can I choose my clothes for tomorrow?
May I pack my snack?
Where is my backpack?
Do you have my school supplies ready?
At 6:00 a.m., my little boy was knocking at my bedroom door, fully dressed in his prechosen racing shirt with backpack already on his back. I wonder if he slept at all.
"I'm ready for school!" he told me.
I told him (and his little shadow, Russell) to go back to bed.
Try as he might, my little adrenaline-loaded boy couldn't manage.
So a little after 7:00, I rose myself from attempted slumber and dressed myself and Russell, fed my boys...and twiddled my thumbs a little until I could finally put the kids in the car to go to Mt. Carbon Elementary School-- a.k.a. "Taylor's Preschool."
His teachers Ms. Becky and Ms. Sarah were waiting for him.
So were tables full of building toys, some name tags,
and his friends.
When I picked him up two hours later, my little preschooler had a smile on his face, but as is so typical of him, had little interest in conversation:
"How was it?" I ask.
"Good. I could only eat one of my snacks, so I should eat the other one at lunch."
"That sounds like a good idea. Why couldn't you eat both?"
"I don't know."
"What else did you do?"
"We ate snacks and read a book and stuff."
After prodding him, I managed to get a few more bits of info out: that the title of the book was Clifford's First Day of School, that he played on the playground, he sang a song about animals, and he learned that this month is called August.
My conclusion: that I am definitely raising a boy (aren't boys weird sometimes?), and I think that he likes school.
Good outcome, I'd say.
