The Red Baron's First Solo Flight

The Red Baron has officially entered the system and had her first day of preschool (coincidentally on Tuesday, aka my 30th birthday). Never in the history of preschool students has there been a kid with higher expectations and anticipation. She has been asking to go to preschool since she turned 2 years old (I didn't start taking it personally for a good 6 months) and would practice leaving to go to preschool on a daily basis. We found out she got into our favorite preschool in June, and she has asked me a minimum of 4 times a day since "can I PLEASE go to preschool today?" like it was something I was willfully withholding from her.

And preschool has come at a high price too - the toll being that she had to be potty trained. Anna used her iron will in this instance and was so determined to go to preschool come hell or high urine, that she made the potty training happen on her own. Well, that and a jar of jelly beans, but since they're only 4 calories each we don't really count them.

Next came the outfit, and most importantly a backpack. I'm embarrassed to say that I shopped in more stores for Anna's backpack for preschool than I did for my own wedding dress. We made her special hair-band, bought glowing Tinkerbell shoes, searched Craigslist for the best "first day of preschool outfit" (my wallet has a moral dilemma against buying new clothes for my kids other than at Target) and performed what we hope to be an annual back to school fashion show the night before the big day. I was exhausted by the whole preschool ordeal and kept having preschool-related nightmares and found myself gazing into space wondering how healthy the other kid's snacks will be, what might happen if she kills the class guinea pig (by accident of course) and other equally important and meaningful thoughts.

So the day came and after tiring her completely by photographs, we all took her to school. Since she's never been in daycare before, I was a little anxious how she would handle our first parting. She walked in, found her cubby and turned and said, "Ok, bye guys." and started painting. Chad turned to me and said, "Did you hear that?" and I was in total shock. My baby just left ME at preschool like it was no big deal. The teachers handed us a little parting gift (complete with tear-inducing poem and Kleenex) and we were suddenly back in the car, completely dejected, relieved and stunned.

I looked in the back seat to find the Little Man, having lost his playmate and best friend for the morning, looking like this:

She could have had at least cried for a minute or shed a small tear, right? But she was nothing but excited and ready to tell everyone who the real boss was and that these "teachers" were merely ornamental in function and that the buck stops with her, as we heard her telling the teachers it wasn't time to clean up, she wasn't finished with her water colors yet. I have to say, hearing that interchange helped me leave a little less sad.

When I picked her up after, she was so sad to leave preschool. She looked at me and her whole body deflated as if to say, "Really? You again?" A trip to Burgerville for a celebratory berry smoothie solved that problem, and she's been wearing her backpack ever since.

The Proud Dada

A Very Proud Pieface