School Days!

Calista has started preschool again, this time two afternoons a week, and she is thrilled. She just walks into the classroom and is so confident and capable. I love it.

(Side note: I've decided the best way to get a decent picture out of her is to make sure she has the correct expectations. If I let her know that we are going to take a couple of pictures after she gets her hair done, and ask her to cooperate, the pictures will turn out pretty well. If I don't, then she freaks out and refuses.

Like Craig did while I was taking Calista's picture. He kept running from me saying, "no picture!" which was fine with me, since I wanted Calista's picture. But then, when I put the camera away, he burst into tears and begged to have his picture taken.

So we did.)

Calista says she is most excited to play with her teachers and friends, and that she wants to learn to read books this year - I think we might have a shot at this! We've been practicing sounding things out. She also said she wants to be a firefighter when she grows up.

Since Calista is doing afternoon preschool, I come home, immediately put Craig down to nap, and then for the first time in two years, I have quiet time all alone during the day. Two glorious hours. It's amazing, and relaxing, and no one is screaming or crying or biting each other. Bliss.

I'm also a little sad, though, that Calista is away from me two afternoons a week. She is my little buddy, and the afternoons while Craig naps is our time for us to spend together, just me and her. And although the down time is wonderful, I miss her a little bit. I miss the bonding time that those afternoons represent.
It also reminds me that in just one short year, she will be going to kindergarten. It will probably be 4-5 days a week, and may even be all day! How horrible does that sound? No more afternoons of movie and laundry, or puppet shows and coloring, or pirates and slides, or cuddling and watching videos. It's the first, small step to my baby girl growing up, leaving me, having a life of her own, and me missing out on things. And missing her.

Her smile, her laughter, her silly stories and make believe, her whining, her dancing, her everything. Someone else will get to share those things with her, and I will miss it.
And I don't want to miss a thing.