You started K3 preschool last month. We met your teacher a few days before you started, and I immediately liked her. She clearly has a heart for three-year-olds, and God bless her for it. You loved checking out your new classroom, but you made sure I didn't wander too far from you. You wanted me to sit beside you (in chairs meant for a three-year-old ... not a six-foot-tall thirty-four-year-old) while you explored the buckets of trains, cars, dinosaurs, and magnetic blocks. There was a neat dress-up area, a sweet tool bench, and lots of books. It was pretty much everything you love in the world.
You were shy when we met your teacher and you clung to my leg like a koala bear. I warned her that you might have a hard time leaving my leg on the first day. She assured me that there would be extra volunteers on hand to pry nervous kiddos of their mommas' legs. I did a mental whew as we left the classroom. You've had some fairly rough weeks being dropped off at Sunday School recently, so I was prepared for a Super Sobfest of Epic Proportions at your first preschool drop-off. Just when I think I have you (or your sister) figured, you go and throw me a curve ball. This particular curve ball was you walking up to your teacher on the first day, giving her a big hug, and waving to me as you walked into your classroom. I was floored. And I may or may not have been a little teary watching you put away your bag then sit down at the table to work on a puzzle. You looked so comfortable, so NOT nervous, so grown.
I'm not much of a baby person. I mean, I like babies - I like their inherent cuteness and smushiness. But when you were a baby, I didn't really mourn each passing stage as you learned new things because each stage has been more fun than the previous. I don't want to keep you a baby forever (even though you were a delightful baby); I love that you're growing up. And watching you in your new preschool made me feel so happy.
You've handled drop-off like a champ every day. You give me a kiss, give your teacher a hug, then run into class. And every day when I pick you up, you're drenched in sweat and have a big smile on your face. It can't get much better than that.
Speaking of kisses, you've decided your preferred method of kissing is with a fish face. You have an impressive fish face and an even more impressive kiss noise. Your Fish Kisses are indeed a treat for the eyes and the ears.
You and Daddy like to wrestle. You two punch each other (you, as hard as you can; Daddy, not so much), blow raspberries in each other's face, and make disgusting boy noises. It baffles me how this could ever be enjoyable, but you two have the best time. Daddy and I have (hopefully) made it clear that you're only allowed to play like that with him. In other words, Momma don't play that. I'm happy to be the booboo-kisser, the lunch-fixer, and the tickle-giver. But getting spit at in my face by a be-dimpled boy is infinitely far down on my list of Things That Sound Fun.
Getting one of your Fish Kisses is at the top.
Hugs and smooches,
Mommy & Daddy
Headlines for September 9, 2015:
- Clinton offers first apology for private email server
- Refugees Left Behind: Millions of Syrians Flee, Few Reach Europe
- Sofia Vergara, Kaley Cuoco tied for highest paid TV actress
- Queen Elizabeth II becomes longest-reigning monarch in Britain's history
- Kentucky clerk battle fuels debate over religious accommodation laws