Circle Time

We got a sneak peek tonight at the daily goings-on at Annie's preschool when we attended the fall Open House. Annie proudly showed us around her classroom, where she smelled and rolled the Play-Doh (peppermint), smelled and sculpted with the styrofoam peanuts (no smell), and smelled and made a Fruit Loop bracelet with me (fruity, obviously). Her teacher, Miss Collette, informed me that Annie is one of three "smellers" in the class this year, and she said that she always makes sure to point out a new smell to them or warn them if something, like glue, isn't going to be good to smell. (There is no question that she gets this trait from Jason. I won't list the many disgusting things that he must compulsively smell.) During the rest of the open house, Annie basically had her bracelet next to her nose and would only have been happier if she could have permanently lodged one of the Fruit Loops inside her nostril.

Then, Circle Time. We parents watched, trying to hide our laughter behind our hands, while the teachers led the kids in some singing and motions while they sat in a circle. Ben, especially, sat for about 1/100 of the time, and spent most of his circle energy doing round-offs into the middle of the circle. Often, inspired, Annie followed. There was one especially precious moment when they turned off the lights and sang "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star" while holding flashlights, but otherwise, it was just an affirmation that three-year-olds are the wiggliest, most impulsive things in the world. And a reminder that the teachers should have their pay doubled immediately.

At the end, we had snack. Per usual, Annie was the very last one done, so we watched her savor every last morsel of her self-frosted cookie while Miss Collette further informed us that Annie is the last person at the snack table every single day. She loves her food . . . especially when it is cookies and juice. And Connie and I had a moment or two where we looked at each other across the room and thought, "Seriously? Am I really at my kid's preschool open house, wearing a nametag, being the MOM?" Guess we're not in college anymore.

I was so proud of my little, big girl. I can hardly believe that she goes somewhere two days a week, does things, learns things, and has actual conversations and interactions without me. It is her first step of many away from me, and even though I am proud, I am a little sad, too.

After the open house, we took advantage of the fact that Miss Kelly was already at our house, managing Jemma, so we dropped Annie off and went out for some grown-up dinner. Annie was initially thrilled to play with Miss Kelly, but then apparently fell apart some time during bathtime because she "wanted her Mommy." I hate to think that Annie was sad and wanting me when I wasn't there for her, but I'm a tiny bit glad that she still needs me that way. I love her soooo much.

This afternoon, the roofers were putting some metal sheeting on the part of our roof that leaked last winter, so Annie couldn't fall asleep in her own bed. I brought her in my bed, where she napped (and I got to watch) for an hour or so. And then Jemma woke up, rosy and chubby and gleeful, and reached her little hands high above her head for me to lift her out of her crib, and I was so glad to be home with my girls on a cold November day.