Lucy is four going on five. Today was her first day of pre-school. She picked out her dress the night before--it was back and forth back and forth between the fluffy purple skirt and the yellow shirt with the flower on the collar and the blue polka dot dress. I mean, seriously we went back and forth like nine times. That's a lot. Finally she settled on the dress.
She was concerned that her required tote bag was empty. I assured her that school was the best place to go to fill up a book bag. Lucy has three teachers. Lucy was shocked to discover there would be boys in her class. Lucy came and went without a single hitch. Seth asked Lucy what she did in her school (finally someone with whom he could commiserate).
Lucy: "We played on the playground where there's a train, Sethie! And everyone held hands we all had to go to the bathroom and try. Then we had a snack. We read some books. And played again!" The look on Seth's face was telling: "Man, I got jipped with first grade, all we do is circle shape patterns and write letters on dotted lines."
Our afternoons now are all Lucy all the time as we wait for Seth's return and the naps of her two younger sisters to end. We built a house of sticks, dirt and shells, planted spinach and lettuce, play doh, spun on the office chair, scared ourselves silly watching snippets of Coraline, then joined Dad on the floor after our rowdiness certainly roused him from his cat nap and snapped some self portraits--several.
Dear preschool, as I lend you my wild child, could you please take care? For we like her the way she is. Her uncle Brendon thinks she may even be the president of our United States someday. But, we are not too worried, for, truly, how DO you hold a moonbeam in your hand?