When I see teachers now, or talk to them, I get a weird little ache somewhere behind my ribs. It’s a lot like nostalgia and a little like jealousy, and I know it’s still there because whenever I interact with a teacher, it’s almost like I want to jump up and down and wave my arms and shout, “I did it, too! Honest! I was there, in the trenches, just like you! I impacted kids’ lives! I was INVOLVED! I was important in the world, too!!” This makes being a parent during teacher conferences really fun for all parties involved, let me tell you (“Ms. Ferguson, would you please stop talking? Just a little?”). Today was the rescheduled fall field trip for Quinlan’s four-year-old preschool class. She and her friends WERE SO EXCITED. They couldn’t go to their first one because of bad weather, and even though today was supposed to be chilly and windy and possibly rainy, by golly, they were bundled up in their layers and sent along on their school bus because this was a FIELD TRIP, and field trips…
I took Quinn to her first preschool open house yesterday. We’re a bit nervous about her starting, I’m afraid. Quinn is definitely her own person, I’ll tell you that much. If I send her up to her room, she’ll call out “I don’t WANT to!”–as she’s climbing the stairs in obedience. She will fight her bedtime, repeatedly appearing downstairs when she should be sleeping–“Watchu watching?” or “What’s that on your com-poo-ter?”–but tuck herself into bed for a nap in the afternoon without prompting. She will dance around the living room like this girl I knew in college who was basically sort of high all the time and heard a lot of music in her head, but refuses to participate in any sort of organized dance, or song, or sport, or party game, choosing instead to huddle against me with her thumb in her mouth. Just last week, even, my mom was over, watching the girls while I ran out to an appointment. I got home, and the girls were running outside to…