The Thanks I Get for Raising Punky Brewster

At gymnastics on Monday morning, we walked in the door and ran smack into Miss Colette, Annie's beloved preschool teacher from last year. She was there to sign her son up for a class and she immediately got down on her knees to give Annie a big hug. Which Annie did, tentatively. Then, she hid behind my legs while I said things like, "Can you even believe Miss Colette is here?" and "Wow! Look! It's baby Maya, who you have always wanted to meet, like when you threw a penny in the fishpond at Breton Village and wished that baby Maya would come to our house so you could meet her. And now it's really happening!!!" I mean, seriously, Annie has talked about Miss Colette and baby Maya on a DAILY basis since school ended at the end of April. We have sent her three little plg notes that Annie dictates and then signs her name to and draws elaborate pictures on. When Annie "has a baby in her tummy," it is always named either Baby Maya or Baby Marta (her cousin) when it is "born." And now, at the moment to end all moments of wishes-coming-true, Annie hides behind my legs. She went off to gymnastics, I said good-bye to Miss Colette, and the day went on as usual.

This morning, I took the girls to the farmer's market. Annie had chosen her own outfit for the day and was wearing: a white tank top, a hot-pink skirt, a slightly-different-shade-of-hot-pink sweater with various colored buttons, one orange sock, one green sock, and brown suede shoes with light pink flowers on them. We bought some great-looking corn and green beans, and I let the girls each pick a fruit (strawberries and blueberries). We had fun, even stopped to listen to some guy who was playing guitar and singing. I got a silver dollar back as change and gave it to Annie to put in her piggy bank when we got home. As we were loading up into the car, we decided to go to the park next and I let Annie choose which one. (All of this to say: Hey! I try. I really try to be a fun, adventurous mom who gives my kids interesting experiences and lets them have choices in their days. But you'll see where this gets me.)

We're turning out of the parking lot to go to the park when Annie says, "Mom! Remember yesterday? Remember that we saw Miss Colette at gymnastics????"

"I do."

"I love Miss Colette."

"I'm glad. Isn't it so special to have a teacher you love so much?"

"I love her so much, Mom. I love Miss Colette more than you." Pause, shrug. "I just do."

I will take this with a grain of salt, with the knowledge that Annie's concept of love can be swayed with an ice cream cone or a piece of gum, with the additional knowledge that she told me this afternoon that she intends to marry "Uncle Trevor, or maybe - how about Ben? Or Tommy?", and with the hope that she finds many more teachers to love in her life.