Listening to: Mahler, Kindertotenleider
Yesterday was the first day of school and despite a few hitches here and there, it went off rather well. Lilly started 1st grade and despite her studious nature, was characteristically phlegmatic about everything.
"How did you like your teacher?"
"I like her."
"What did you do today?"
Marni, on the other hand, beside herself with the completion of her first day of the final year of pre-school, gave a step-by-step account of everything that happened. In case you're wondering, not a lot goes on in pre-school but don't tell Marni. As far as she's concerned, it's a veritable bee-hive of activity.
Pre-schhol? I don't get it, frankly. All of my children will have attended two years of pre-school prior to kindergarten but I'm wondering if it's done much other than expose them to the classroom. Everyone I knows sends their kids to pre-school so why don't we just start our kids in school at age three? Make it fourteen years of school instead of twelve.
Zeke started his first day of pre-school and I was afraid dropping him off would be traumatic. Indeed, as I escorted him through the classroom, trying to get him interested in various distractions ("SEE?!? New friends!!! Your teacher!!! A Guinea Pig!!!"), he wasn't having it and kept his grip firm on my leg. Finally, a box of toy cars caught his attention (or "Tars" in his insistentence on inverting his 'C's' and 'T's'). With him elbow deep in the box of tars, I was able to sneak out the door and make my escape.
Yet, it was traumatic. My heart was breaking. My baby was in school. Probably not the heartbreak that's going on over at Vicki's site but still, a cold slap in the face as I saw my little man take another step out of infancy.
I'm learning that along with the joy, parenthood is a matter of heartbreak by degrees.