A month or so ago, 'You know, you start school so soon. And mamas and dadas are not allowed. Only teachers and your new friends. What will we do without you? I guess mama and Leo will just be sitting outside the door saying to ourselves "Where is that Emilia! She sure is taking her sweet time!"' You know, that sort of thing.
And then every day after that, 'How many days til I start school?' 'Mmm, about 26, maybe?' 'How many weeks is that?' Or, 'How many minutes is that?' Like she has any idea what a minute might be. Or a week, or a month, or even an hour, for that matter. Really, the girl has no concept of time at all, as evidenced by trying to get her to do anything fast.
So, Monday morning: swim lessons. I dragged poor little Leo out of his bed, got Emilia all decked out in her blue and white polka-dot bikini, and raced over to the pool. We were only two steps in the front door when I knew all was lost. Felipe was nowhere to be seen. He got a promotion (or some other stupid thing) and he is now at the Redmond pool. We were left to poor Mackenzie, the guy she wailed and screamed at last time she saw him. And so it started again. 'I will never not ever have a swimming lesson with anyone but Felipe!' And she cried and she cried and she cried. So I apologized and we left. I then sent an email that afternoon quitting lessons indefinitely. I'm sorry, but the girl is three and it is only swim lessons and I'm not going to force her to do it. And so, no swim lessons. (You are welcome Little Leo, who always gets woken from his naps to get tossed in the car to go somewhere, it seems.) And that was Monday.
Tuesday, the first day of school: I let her pick her outfit herself, and Michael stayed home to see her off. After the longest morning ever, and a very early and quick lunch, we hopped in the car to go. We parked about three million blocks away, which worked nicely for Emilia as it gave her more time to swagger along and strut her little self all around. It was hilarious -- she thought she was some seriously hot shit, if you know what I mean. I had never in my life seen a three-year-old strut. It was like she thought she was on a catwalk or something. And you know what, she was marvelous. So happy, so confident, so excited -- until the teacher opened the door. It all happened so fast. She sobbed and sobbed and cried and wailed. Quick hug and the teacher closed the door with her on one side and us on the other. And I could still hear her crying. So we turned to walk back to the car and I cried all the way, thinking, 'Oh, please be nice to our little girl. Oh, Emilia, please be nice!' Apparently the teachers know this is all going to happen, because as they are ushering your daughter in the door and telling you not to let said door hit you in the ass, they hand you a little gift bag. Inside the bag is a box of tissue, chocolate, a Starbucks coffee card, and such. I took the tissue and chocolate. Michael took the Starbucks.
Two and a half hours later the girl came out of her classroom positively glowing. She loved it. She more than loved it. And her swagger was in full-effect. It was all I could do not to yell, 'Traitor! You are supposed to be sad and missing your mama! Don't you know which side your bread is buttered on?!' Or however the saying goes. But, I didn't. Instead, we beamed back at her. Well, except for Leo. He screamed because he was beside himself with being in his carseat for what felt an eternity, I'm sure.
And so, as promised, after Emilia's first day we went out to celebrate. We promised her ice cream, gelato, or cupcakes -- whichever she wanted. Being a rather bright girl, she chose cupcakes. In fact, the first thing she said when we saw her after school was, 'I want to go to Trophy Cupcakes!' She chose Vanilla with Vanilla, mama chose Vanilla with Vanilla, dada got a cappuccino, and Leo was just delighted to be out of his carseat and free to kick his little legs this way and that.
And just to make it an even better day for the girl, as soon as we got home she got to open the present that sat waiting for her since she got up in the morning. Charlie and Lola dolls. Oh, how she wanted them. And oh, how delighted she has been ever since. (We've had a bit of a Charlie and Lola craze going on over here for quite some time now.) Then the three-year-old and the nine-month-old both went down for naps, and we had Sidecars.
I know this must sound like a bit of ridiculous fanfare over a relatively small thing. I mean really, it is just pre-school. And it is only two days a week... In fact, my sister flat-out made fun of me when I told her all about it yesterday. But really, since Emilia was born she has always had her mama and her dada with her -- always. We are, by design, apparently one of those sorts of families. She has been left with a babysitter five times in total. Once was with my sister, once was with my sister's oldest daughter, and three times with my sister's nanny. That isn't much time away from us. And laugh and call us a bunch of grade-A morons if you'd like, but I don't care. We only get these little kids so long, so I'll be damned if I am not going to be with now. This is not to say that they both don't drive me absolutely crazy sometimes... er, I mean, generally always -- so much so that I've heard Emilia tell Michael when he gets home from work, 'Mama says she wants a babysitter and a nanny!' But I am quite serious. Once school starts, life is never the same -- if for no other reason than the sheer fact that I am not always there anymore. Our little girl is not just mine anymore -- I have to share her with the world. And we are no longer 100% in charge of what goes into her little head. And as time goes by, school hours will get longer and longer. It will no longer be only two days a week. It will be five. And she will have oodles of friends and gobs of activities, and so on and so forth.
And so, Wednesday: Spanish class started again. Miss Antonia is gone -- devastation on my part this time. Apparently her husband got a blasted job offer somewhere else. But Miss Rosa seems quite nice and is very beautiful, for whatever that is worth. Also, there is a boy in the class called Leo.
Thursday: Pre-school again. Emilia was so excited and strutting around. This time when Mrs. Cunningham opened the door to start the day, the smile faded and the girl ran -- literally ran in the opposite direction until I called after her. And she cried again. I had to capture her, give her a big hug, tell her I love her -- and to be nice and to be kind -- and go. Apparently she didn't cry very long though. I asked her after class, 'Did you cry very much?' 'No, not very much. Just a little bit of crying. But Olivia cried a lot. And Cameron took my toys. And Ella said she was not feeling very well. And Gracie is a nice girl. And there is a boy called William.' Did you have fun?' 'Yes. Can we get cupcakes?'
And personally, I think I have been very brave throughout.
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