The one who loves trains, and wanted to know how he would remember he loved them when he grows up. Just say this isn’t so. Say you’ll spend all next year, curled up on the floor in PJs playing with trains. Say that it will take us 3 hours to eat breakfast because we have to argue over what kind of cereal it will be. And once it’s poured, and there is milk on top, you won’t eat it, and I’ll get all tissied up over that. Tell me you’ll say, “Is it tomorrow today,” when I tell you you have preschool this morning. Tell me that you will insist that after I’m through packing your big brother’s lunches that I pack your lunch for you — in a brown bag — even though you’re eating it at home. Tell me I have to wonder how I’m going to get my shower because you sneak into your brother’s rooms when I’m not looking and take their stuff. I don’t think I can bear it. Going on three times now, I have sent someone off the kindergarten. You’d think I’d be better at it by now.
I think I was the only kindergarten Mom there who couldn’t read the registration form — because she needed bifocals. His response to the whole thing, “They kept saying “good,” and they were nice.” And why do they call it “screening?” Oh, yes, and he was “glowing.”
Today, it’s the last day of preschool today for both little guys. Geesh — can it get any more emotional? I cherish their teachers. My 2nd grader’s class is also hosting a baby shower for their teacher. So cookies were in order. So, we made snickerdoodles. Their favorites. Why, you ask, didn’t I just go buy them? Because, who wants to go to the store with 4 boys?
So we made them — they helped. . We were all set to roll the balls into the cinnamon and sugar — but I couldn’t find the “reserved cup of sugar.” Then I realized, they had poured it into the mix. So, dear teachers, these cookies are a little flat, and very sweet. But we love you.
And P.S. I’m so glad Kindergarten is only a half-day.