Today was Porter’s first official day of preschool. And although you might think I’d go on and on about all the gory details of how it was, and what he did, and who he played with, the much more interesting part of the story is how it affected the three other people in the household. Because for him, today could be singularly summed up by the fact that he FINALLY got full run of that rockin’ playground that heretofore taunted him like an unattainable jewel; the same playground structure that required I pick up Stella first every day because if I dared take him with me to pick her up I spent the better part of 15 minutes chasing and coaxing him down from it’s beautiful towering steel goodness. And now it is his, all his, and all I can say is good luck pre-school staff – now it’s your job to bribe him off the wiggly bridge.
Aside from that, today’s exercise in transition was all business.
The other three members of this family, on the other hand, obsessed at length about how he would do. In case you haven’t figured it out already, Porter’s not exactly known for his emotional stability. I was dreading the thought of leaving a tear-streaked, screaming face staring out at me as I drove away, and Steve had to touch an extra couple of doorknobs before leaving this morning. Stella, on the other hand, slid effortlessly into the protective older sister role, voicing her increasing concern about how the other kids would treat him and where exactly his cubby would be located – across from hers? Hmmm, no, next to – definitely next to. For the last week she has been incessantly coaching him on the dos and don’ts of preschool, and from the moment I dropped them both off, she was micromanaging his every move. By the time I left she had him involved in an elaborate felt-board diorama and was already writing his first developmental performance evaluation.
Of all the photos I took this morning these two are my favorite. The first one because it honestly and truly captures the eccentric nature of my children. Whenever I look at it, it makes me think their names should have been “Baroness Philomena VonWalstonstein” and “Jeb Cooter Walsterelli” The second one captures them in that sweet and special way that reminds me why I would ever have been crazy enough to choose to have two.
