At long last and all too soon, we have arrived at that rite of passage, The First Day of School. She has been trying on her ballerina backpack every morning for a week, saying in a dreamy voice, Today is my first day of school. Then, suddenly, it was. She held my hand and looked up at me with an expression of sheer excitement as we crossed the street from our building to the rectory of the old church which houses her Pre-K program. Up the stairs, a quick jaunt to her cubby to stow her backpack (empty), and we went into the Rainbow Room, where a throng of parents stood at the entrance, attentively watching their four-year-olds play. She walked into the room and scarcely looked back. I don't think she even noticed when I slipped out a moment later.
Yesterday we met the teachers. She hid shyly behind my legs for thirty seconds before being lured out by one of the instructors to paint a frame for her photo (hot pink, of course), which went up on the wall right above Stella's, our neighbor from downstairs. Daddy and I sat down across the room with two other teachers to discuss logistics. Let's just say that when it comes to our child, one is quickly disabused of that first impression of timidity. It took no longer than a minute for her to begin telling her teacher in a confessional tone how she had been so mean to Gary, the French tutor, when he came over the night before. And before our short orientation was over, she was winking at everyone from across the room and openly exploring the classroom that will be her world for the next year, hands on sassy little hips. Oh, she's going to be just fine.
