Hey mom, it's great to see you!

Today marked the first day of Anika's (hopefully) long and fruitful relationship with education. She started preschool, in the room blessed by a very talented and forgiving woman, Ms. Laura, who has taught 2 year-olds at this school for 12 years, and her very battle-ready assistant, Ms. Stacy.

I was a complete wreck this morning. Woke up with a knot in my stomach. Played with Reni outside in the wee hours, pointing out balloons and the morning moon still in the sky and watering our near-dead grass. Tried to figure out how I was going to get everything ready in time (all of us cleaned, fed, dressed; lunch and snack packed in appropriate and labeled lunch bag and gallon-sized bag, respectively; water and diapers and wipes and extra outfit and OOOH, Anika is the "special person" today so we have to pick out a story to share and is she going to agonize over that?

Then, she came bounding outside at 7 a.m., and with that smile reserved for grandparents and chocolate and going to the park, announced: "I get to go to school today!!" 

She helped pack her lunch. She knew just what story to share (Dora Climbs Star Mountain, which she can practically read herself, and which gets me every time when she starts counting to 15 in Spanish), she picked out her dress and her hair clip and even let me pick out the shoes that match rather than the pink sparkly pair that she always prefers. She entertained Reni while I tried to change his diaper and dress him without letting him launch himself off of the changing table. She helped me pick out my shirt, and my shoes, and she held still when I had to brush her hair. I think we may have forgotten to brush her teeth, but hey. people, it's the first day of school, ok? Mom had the jitters and small details might have been overlooked! (Damn, like sunscreen. I forgot to pack her sunscreen. Mental note to put that in her Dora backpack for Thursday.) She even ate breakfast. Well, sort of. She took one bite of everything that I offered (strawberries, yogurt, cereal, bagel with cream cheese) and would hold out the bowl or bread and announce: "I'm all done! Time for school now!"

Then, I could hold her off no longer. I had even showered and made myself an iced coffee. It was only 9 a.m., the school is literally around the corner, and they don't open the doors until 9:25. We loaded ourselves and the considerable amount of gear required for the first day of school into the car and headed out. We even stopped for gas, although the car still had a good quarter-gallon left. We arrived at 9:10. They had a fellowship hall in the church opened (her school is housed within a Methodist church, although it's a secular preschool), with plates of cookies and punch in glass pitchers and little dixie cups. Parents nervously chatted while kids either clung to their kin (about 1/3 of the kids); looked around nervously, clutching a cookie and tentatively walking around the room (most of the others); and then my kid, who helped herself to two chocolate cookies, refused my offer to hold her lunch bag and her backpack, and ran up to every kid she saw, smiling and announcing, "I'm Anika! I be your friend!" and then began running around with three other boys like a gazelle, her lunch bag and book bag flailing behind her, around and around and around the cookie table.

Reni, of course, wanted in on the action, and so I ignored the stares of some of the parents who wouldn't be my friends anyway as my non-footwear-wearing super-crawler made a beeline for the fun kids.

Then it was time to go into the classroom. "Mama, I'm going to play with the beans!" Anika announced, referring to a sensory table that during our orientation visit had been filled with dried beans and various scooping, shoveling, and troweling instruments. Sure enough, she could barely stop to put her backpack and lunch bag into her cubby before running to the table, her new gazelle friends in tow.

I hung around for awhile. I watched as most parents said their farewells, with a few kids crying and clinging and a few kids looking around with wide eyes and shifty feet and a few kids oblivious. Then I realized I was the only parent left. The teacher looked at me. I grabbed Reni from the bucket of ponies he had discovered and headed toward the sensory table. I grabbed Ani's arm. "Bye sweetie," I said as bravely as I could muster. "Mama and Reni will be back to pick you up after lunch, ok?" She looked at me for a second before turning her attention to the shovel and a boy holding out a bucket for her to fill with beans. "Ok mama," she said, all nonchalant-like. I held back tears. I realized that I wouldn't see her for four hours, that this was the longest we'd ever been apart since she was a wee little zygote.

Then I walked out as briskly as I could, so no one would see me cry.

And my biggest fear happened. The preschool called. "Anika's doing great," the director said. "But I want you to know that..." my heart stopped. She fell and has a concussion? She knocked out another kid? She's lost a toe? ..."there was a tussle and she got her fingers slammed by the play house shutters. She hardly cried at all and was happy to have us put band-aids on her fingers. She's doing fine now but we just wanted to let you know."

And...sigh of relief. So, I tried to go on with my eerily quiet day. Reni and I went shopping for fall clothes for him. We went to the library story time. We had lunch. We tried for a nap, which of course only happened 20 minutes before it was time to go pick up Anika. I woke him out of a deep sleep (argh, such a painful thing!) to go pick up my daughter.

I get in the door of the Brown Bear room and there she is, seated next to another little blonde girl and sharing her pretzels. "Mama! It's so good to see you!" she says, with another one of her huge grins that make me smile and cry inside at the same time. "I have a fun day! I sing and dance and now I play with my friend Maya!" She gave the girl next to her a playful hug. They both giggled.

I have never felt so proud.