School Days

My two self-anointed "big kids" have completed the first few weeks of school (pre-school and kindergarten, to be more precise) and they have taken to it like mosquitos to flesh. They simply cannot get enough of it.

Though we have retained a Waltham address, Andres has joined many of his friends at school in Newton, a generous privilege granted to kids who are fortunate enough to have a parent employed by the Newton Public Schools. I find it odd to see him occupying the same corridors as 5th graders who are twice his size. In my mind, it is not possible that he is in Kindergarten yet--I keep waiting for the principal to say, "It's ok, you can take him back to preschool. Come back when you are ready."

First day!

Andres does not share my disbelief. He looks forward to school every day, and though he fondly remembers his preschool career, he has no desire to go back. (Though he does delight in those moments of notoriety when we drop Celia off in the morning.)

Every morning for the first week, I dutifully walked him up to his classroom and helped him store his lunchbox and hang up his coat. But the room was packed with other parents doing the same, and it soon became clear that he didn't need me hanging around. But the routine was comforting, so I kept escorting him upstairs into week two, saying goodbye at the door of his classroom, and then watching him navigate the morning welcome routine with ease.

"At some point," I told him, "you will have to walk up to class all by yourself." He seemed surprised by this idea, but perhaps it had been rattling around in his head too, having seen all of the giant 3rd and 4th graders walking unaccompanied to class. We began to talk about different places where I could drop him off. Outside school seemed too far, but the top of the stairway near his class was too close. We settled on the bottom of the stairs, just inside the back entrance to the building.

The trial run of this new plan was last Tuesday. We said our goodbyes at the agreed-upon place, and then I watched Andres turn for a moment to face the stairs...only to turn back to me for another hug and kiss. "Bye daddy," he said, "I love you." Pause. Then again, "Bye daddy," and a final hug, before he walked away. He knew this moment was a significant one. Up the first flight of stairs, then a glance back down at me, a look of excited disbelief painted on his face. Then up the second flight, a momentary glimpse of his sheepish smile, and then he was gone, off to class for another day's adventures. I walked slowly to my car and drove to work.

It should come as no surprise that Celia is living a charmed life at preschool. She has been a known commodity since last year, and has been welcomed like a long-lost princess back to her castle. Her teachers love her. All the teachers, in fact, love her, which although flattering, could also potentially lead to an acute case of narcissistic toddler syndrome.

As with Andres, I laugh when I see her stuffing her favorite blanket and a stuffed animal into her backpack. The backpack seems so scholarly...the contents, not so much.

She reports that coloring is her favorite thing about preschool. (This is straight from the horse's mouth at 11:30 pm--she took a late late nap today, and is "trying to fall asleep" while laying next to me while I write. Andres has been asleep for hours.) The sandbox is also a hit, as are the trains. It's nice to hear about her preferred activities without feeling like I am pulling teeth...she is definitely different than her brother in that respect. Her likes and dislikes are an open book.

Enjoying ice cream with a new preschool pal.

So all in all, the fall has started off well, and feels worlds away from our chaotic summer. We are more settled. The kids are in school. Our pickup/supplementary daycare situation requires its own calendar, but even that has been manageable so far. We are getting back to routines.

I am reminded, though, that these routines will be upturned again in a few weeks time when baby #3 comes along. Baby #3...the one who will make Andres a big brother for the second time, and the one destined to make Celia a middle child. Visual evidence (Natalia's belly) makes it clear that this child is arriving soon, but I have not wrapped my mind around this fact yet. How old will these kids seem when their new brother or sister joins us? They will feel like old-timers. And perhaps, by extension, so will I.