The kid’s got the “day-after-a-roadtrip” crazies. I probably do, too and that’s not a good pairing, lemme tell ya. Patence is kind of low around these parts and the poor kid just wants to run around, flailing his arms in the air, demanding juice, and disobeying me with a glint in his eye. Shouldn’t a toddler be able to do that without getting the stink-eye from his mama now and then?
Question: when does a “toddler” become a “preschooler?”
Speaking of preschool, I took The Who to visit my old preschool this afternoon. This is a place around the corner from my parents’ house where I went as a little kid and then worked as a teenager. The Who happily scampered into the wooden playhouse, which has been there since 1973 and looked so small today. In my memory, it was enormous. Funny how that happens. I want The Who to go here. I want this to be his preschool. And not necessarily because it’s where I went, but because I know it. I trust it. I know and trust the staff and the philosophy and I wouldn’t worry about him for a single second there. (Not that I worry about him where he is now.) I wish this place was in Philly and not here. Or I wish we were here and not in Philly. Whatever it would take to have him enrolled here. I’m sad that it’s not really in the cards for us.
Three more things:
- I have to think of something fun to do tomorrow. It’s going to be sunny and in the 60s. My favorite weather.
- Reunion! A grand total of five people are coming from our graduating class (three of whom are myself and two people I keep in touch with regularly.) At least there will be jammies and wine and a kid-free overnight. I am excited.
- Another long drive on the horizon and I am disinterested in that. I don’t understand why if we can manufacture cars that can back up while the driver is blindfolded, that we haven’t gotten any closer to teleportation.