Today was D-Bop’s first day of (his last year of) preschool. Which means next year he is going to kindergarten. Which means every day for this entire year I will be doing my super nostalgic countdown to kindergarten.
I still remember his first day of (his first year of) preschool. I picked out one of his nicest (but still cool) button down shirts. I put gel in his hair and spiked it up. I took my obligatory picture and posted it on Facebook. My little guy was so grown up!
After a very long three hours of pretty much just reading the Facebook comments, I raced back to pick up my little. I ran up to the gate, rang the bell, the teacher swung open the door and –
HOLY WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED TO MY SON???
His spikes were smashed down, his nice shirt was covered in paint, and he had two of the most giant black eyes I had ever seen. And a bloody lip. And a scratched leg. And a huge beaming smile on his face.
Panicking while trying to stay calm (don’t-worry-new-preschool-teachers-I’m-totally-not-a-mom-that’s-crazy-and-going-to-be-up-in-your-shit-all-the-time-just-PLEASE-LIKE-ME-and-BE-NICE-TO-MY-SON-ok-just-hold-it-together), I looked closer and noticed that the black eyes, bloody lip, and scratched leg were just paint. He painted himself. Completely.
I could handle that.
Flash forward to today. As I drove to pick him up I giddily wondered what shenanigans he got himself into today. Would he be covered in paint again? I sure hoped so. I ran up to the gate, rang the bell, and the teacher swung the door open and—
There was the teacher. “He had a wonderful day! He did great.”
He did great, I thought. A good report. We’ve had our fair share of not so great reports because, well, he’s a kid, trying to figure it out and grow and learn the right social skills.
And then I saw my boy. All put together. A smile and a backpack on him, but no paint. He looked a bit dirtier than before, but not much.
He did great. He looks civilized. He is growing up.
A good report.
So why am I feeling a bit sad?