Why must I do this to myself?

My own personal form of self-torture:

Sailor and Jack are in the rocking chair on my mother's front porch. This was two weeks after Jack was born.

Sailor and Jack are in the rocking chair on my mother's front porch. This is two years after Jack was born.

School days...

Jack started preschool today, and it wasn't the end of the world! For either of us!

We woke up early and got Sailor dressed and off to school, and I told him he was going to school too. You can't tell Jack about any potentially exciting upcoming events more than half an hour ahead of time, because he will drive you absolutely bonkers about leaving. Now. Hurry up!

Oh, he was thrilled. "Okay, Mama! Get dressed, okay? Jack go school!"

I had to hold him down to wash and dress him because he was such a bundle of excitement he could not (not!) keep still. "I go school, okay? I go SCHOOL!"

Watson went with me to drop him off. We rode the elevator down to the classroom floor, and when we landed at the hall where Jack's class is located, he took off ahead of us (looking like a little red backpack with legs) and yelled back, "C'mon, guys! Follow me!"

He went right inside the room without a backward glance, the teacher promptly shut the little half-door in my face, and that was that. I said, "Bye, Flapjack! I'll see you in a little bit, okay?" He didn't hear me. He was already squatting on the rug playing with the Matchbox cars speedway.

I went to pick him up at 12:30 on the dot (so as not to show up early and seem as pathetic as I really am), and he ran to me and gave me a big hug around the knees. Ms. Stephanie said he'd had a great day. Apparently, he was a little afraid of the really loud noises the tractors were making while adding on to the back of the church (he told her he was scared a few times), so Ms. Stephanie suggested I drive Jack around there so he could see what they look like and maybe ease his fears a bit. We drove to the back of the church to take a good look at the tractors and construction crew, and Jack's only comment was "Awesome!"

H e told me he was scared of those tractors at school, but he also played tractors at school. That's pretty much all the information I got out of him.

We got home and I put him in the highchair with lunch. While he was eating, I unpacked his backpack. He'd made two crafts (a letter "A" with holes for lacing and one piece of yarn pulled crookedly through two of the holes and an alligator coloring sheet with a couple of blue scribbles near the top... I have never seen anything so perfect). There was also a daily report sheet filled out by his teachers. It reported that Jack had a great day, was "excited, happy and adventuresome," loved the playground, had one wet diaper change and " ate a little snack and drank a little juice. "

So we survived. Both of us. And he can't wait to go back. He's in his crib now, sleeping the sleep of one thoroughly happy and exhausted preschooler. I'm on my way to hang his "crafts" on the fridge.

Jack, Sheep, Dinosaurs

Such a happy baby.

"Are you okay, Baby Sheep?"

The dinosaur says, "Rawwwr!"

This one melts me.

Countdown...

Jack will go to preschool for the first time this Friday.

Now, I have spent a lot of time carrying on and on about how the boy wears me out and how I can't wait for him to go to school so I can have a break. There are times when this is very true. For example, I'm getting to a point in the year when I have a lot of actual work to do. Organizing photo shoots, orders, adjustments and printings, delivering or mailing, etc. This requires concentration and organization, both of which are challenges for me even during calm and quiet times. Throw in an energetic toddler who likes to treat my person as a jungle gym while shouting (not in an ugly or demanding way, he's just really, really loud in general) about a particular snack he wants to eat and a particular game he wants to play and a particular sound I should make when the dinosaur eats me and, "Oh! Mama! I poo-ted! I poo-ted! Hahahahaha!" Well, you can see how just a little time alone could be beneficial.

I signed him up at a really great school not too far from our house (because really, who wants to have a drive to and from the school eat into their precious "time away" minutes?) and ordered a Jr. Bookpack from LL Bean to celebrate. We attended Open House last week, and Jack had a ball playing cars and trucks and dinosaurs on the colorful rug in the classroom. There were minimal sharing/hitting/pushing incidents between the boys on said rug, and Jack was quite pleased with school in general. He didn't want to leave, and he's been talking about going back all week. I left Open House feeling good about the school and my decision to send him there. Patting myself on the back. This is going to be great!

Now. We have exactly three days before The Big Day, and all I can think about is how much I'm going to miss my little angel baby who is perfect in every way and who I just looove and want to snuuuuggle all the live long day. What kind of evil witch am I, to be so obsessed with a little personal space that I would send my sweet baby boy away? He will miss me! He will cry, and he will wonder what he did to be thrown out of the house. He will get hurt and want his mother, and where will his mother be? He'll know where she is all right. As he's nursing his own wounds, he'll imagine me sitting at home on the most comfortable couch in the world, drinking up all the sweet tea that Jack loves but rarely gets to enjoy, gently pressing laptop keys that Jack knows should be MASHED, watching things on the TV that have non-animated characters on them who wear actual grownup clothing, pausing briefly in my follies to rub my hands together and cackle at my ingenious plan to rid myself of the responsibilities of a burdensome child. Then, slowly, he will begin to hate me.

Rational Raven knows this is nothing more than a gross exaggeration of small concerns any mother might legitimately have when she sends her last baby to school. And for Pete's sake, it's three hours! Twice a week! Three hours. Three hours, during which he will play dinosaurs with other kids who will make all the appropriate noises, sing, dance, color, play outside and have a snack. Then I will reappear in all my glory to take him home with me. And he will probably cry then, if he's anything like his big sister.

Unfortunately, Rational Raven rarely shows up anymore. So I'm left here to wring my hands and overplan what I'll pack for him and play lots and lots of dinosaurs (while Jack secretly wonders what the heck is going on for him to be getting so much attention but wisely keeps his mouth shut).

A Labor Day sampler...

Jack creates a book tote masterpiece at the Decatur Book Festival.

Sailor models a high fashion balloon hat.

This is Jack's big white ball. Not yours. It would benefit you to remember this.

Nature girl.