September 6, 2012

First Day of Preschool

This morning while getting Danny dressed for preschool in his favorite motorcycle t-shirt, jean shorts and his little red Croc tennis shoes, he said, "Danny's growing up!"

"Yes, sweet pea, you sure are!! How old are you?" I asked.

"Only ten," he replied without batting an eye lash.  This is his answer to this question every. Single. Time.

"And how old is Papa?" asked my husband, as he pulled him over to the sink to give him "spiky hair."

"Six," said the older, wiser Danny.

"Oh, I see.  And Mama?" continued Alejandro.

"Only four,"  said my little actually-three-year-old preschooler.

"That's right!" said my husband wisely. "You remember that, boy!"

And then, out the door with giggles and talk of friends and toys and a stop at the front door for the obligatory first-day-of-school picture.

Then kisses and hugs for Papa and piling into the car and Danny and I backed down the driveway.  Upon arrival, Danny found his way through the front door and down the hall to the correct classroom without my help.  He waited patiently for the door to open, and didn't hesitate to be the first to walk inside, as though he'd been doing this for years.  He then made a bee-line for the (you guessed it) trucks.  

"Baby, mama's gonna go now, okay?"  

"Mama's gonna go over there?" he pointed across the room. 

"No, Mama's gonna go home and I'll be back to get you for lunch, okay?"  


A kiss, a hug, and off I went.  The ease of it sorta' makes me hesitate and my eyes start to well, but it didn't surprise me one bit. 

He's more than ready for this.  

And I am now home with a quiet house and two solid uninterrupted hours to do whatever. I. Want.