Ryan has been in three preschools. His first was a small church run preschool he went to until we learned he qualified for the school district preschool for speech and language therapy. But this year, he graduated from speech therapy and his school district preschool schedule was a killer. (Monday-Thursday 12:20-4:50, including bus pick up and drop off) After a lot of soul searching and prayer, I decided to move Ryan to Emma's preschool at the start of the new year.
I worried. Was this too much change for a little guy who likes structure? But he was very excited to go to Emma's school and I breathed a sigh of relief at getting two days with four straight hours to myself. The first day he was eager to start his new class, until he got there. Then he clammed up and plastered on the stoic expression he wears when he's scared. I sent him into his classroom, more than slightly worried but when I picked him up he was all smiles and mad he had to wait two days to go back.
The school year is ending and the remaining preschool days are pretty much field days and picnics so the teachers are cleaning out cubbies and file boxes. It was like a blast to the past when Ryan brought home a folder with this picture on the front:
Is it just me, or does this look like a police mug shot you'd see on TMZ?
This photo was taken the morning he walked in and while it tugs at my heart that my baby was scared and shy, I have to laugh a little at this photo.
Yeah, mother of the year.
Since I've already incriminated myself, why stop there? Because, let's be honest. Isn't that part of what you've missed about my blog posts, my lack of self-filtering?
Emma and Ryan's preschool takes school pictures in the fall just like the big kids. Ryan was still at his other school, so on picture day, I sent Emma to school in a cute little outfit and a hair bow (gah, she hates those and outright refuses to wear them now.) A week or so later I got back her proofs.
Her hair bow is missing and Emma isn't all that excited to be there.
I'm not sure what goes on at preschool, but it looks like it couldn't be much worse than waterboarding.
Most mother's would probably see these proofs and say "oh, my poor baby was traumatized." What did I do?
I burst out into hysterical laughter, right there in the preschool hallway.
The question was which pose to order? I couldn't limit it to just one. If money were no object (and when someone discovers that magical land, you be sure to come back and let me know where it is, okay?) I would have gotten all four. Instead, I settled on two. Poses 2 and 4, 'cause you just never know when these photos might come in handy. Emma's still my wild child. I'm smart enough to know I might be able to use these some day.