A sampling from the last week . . .
From Simon (4 years old):
How strong is God? Is he bigger than a tornado? Could he pick up a tornado and put it back down? What if the tornado’s only this big [makes a little fist]? We could let it in the house, and all the people would say, “Oh, what a cute little tornado!”
What does it look like inside our tummies? Is it light or dark?
How does the plane tell the pilot where to go? Is there a mouth in there?
From Ian (2 years old):
[After trying urgently to get Jason’s attention in the car]: Dad! Dad! Dad! Do people have wings?
Are you going to be a daddy, Mommy?
I have a poopy diaper. Jesus can help me?
Today was Simon’s last day of (this year of) preschool. I wanted to get a picture of Simon holding a picture of himself on the first day of school (spotted the idea somewhere on Pinterest). I didn’t plan ahead enough to get an actual picture printed, but I did have an idea in case I (and by “I” I mean Jason in this instance) ever do fire up Photoshop to fake it. In the meantime, imagine with me that the first day picture is in the frame Simon is holding in today’s picture.
As I predicted, preschool was a really good thing for our family. Throughout the year, we had some rough drop offs with the clinging and the crying and the just-one-more-hugs and, oh.my.goodness. the clinging, but Simon came home happy every day, without exception. I only got to hear about school in teeny details—a song he sang to his sibs here and a tree he could identify as a conifer there—but from what I could piece together, he really, really liked it. And I deeply enjoyed my time with Ian and later Clara too.
I still do wonder what Simon is like when he’s not around me. It warms my heart to hear other kids call out his name to greet him or say good-bye. He simply says, “That’s my buddy so-and-so.” I ask him sometimes who got in trouble that day, and once he answered, “No one had a time out today. Not even me.” Hmmm. I talked to one of his teachers today, thanking her for a great year, and she said, “Simon was always a delight. He always brought something [then she made a gesture around her head that I took to mean “imagination-wise”]. He always brought content, information.” It seemed like a positive thing, and knowing Simon as I do, I think I kind of just intuitively got what she meant. It was an interesting thing to articulate, though.
We made some Garden Hand Scrub for his teachers (about two parts sugar to one part dishwashing soap, stir it up in a jelly jar). The notes, dictated by Simon, said, “Dear Janet, Thank you for being my teacher, and thank you for reading the story every day I comed to preschool” and “Dear Lorie, Thank you for being my teacher and thank you for being the caboose on the hike.” And to both: “I want the teachers to have a day without anyone complaining or crying.” Just a tip there, Simon, Mommy would like a day like that too.
I can definitely see a difference between the first and last day of school pictures—and, more than that, I can see differences in my growing-up-but-still-four kid. Yes, he is wearing the same outfit—not on purpose, but it works for me. These now and then pictures, though (both taken at the Nature Center), kill me dead.
