a letter to letteria. the preschool edition.

In a very short few days my Letty will be joining the ranks of school-aged children everywhere. And I know it's just preschool. I know that doesn't really count. Logically I know that. But for me this isn't necessarily a logical and rational event. It's a super really big deal for me and for her. The girl who wouldn't get in the water? Remember her? The girl who's only babysitters have been her aunts and her Nonna? The girl who spent time away from me with a certified stranger only a handful of times for only a short hour? Well in 10 days she will be leaving me and going out into the great big wide world of school. She will be someplace I cannot watch her. With people I do not really know. Doing God knows what. She will put on her over-sized backpack that dwarves her and she will prance away from me and be exposed to an environment I cannot control. And I'll miss her. I really will. The house will be emptier, calmer, quieter. David will be a different child without her around. Thankfully the hours are short and she will be back in my protection soon enough. Still in one piece, I'm sure. This is the first true test of that saying... that having a child is learning to live with your heart walking around outside your body. That one.

Stage five clinger is my name. And self-pitying is my game. So in order to remove myself from that I thought I would think of all the wonderful things she will be doing and how much she will grow as a little girl this year. Because she will. And she actually kind of needs to.

This entire thing is simply an exercise in denial. Or distraction? I'll go with that. Anyways.

Letty.... Things I wish for you, my precious, strong-willed, independent little creature... (in no particular order as my lists are as jumbled as my brain):

- That you listen to your teacher.
- You answer questions as asked and you do as you are told.
- You stay safe.
- You respect your teacher and your classmates.
- You make new friends. I went to school with kids who had known each other since preschool. I have never known anyone that long (minus family of course). I wish you too can know a person since they were four. And still be their friend.
- That you will love school. You will love learning. You will love reading. You will be a good student. That you will take after me in this regard more than your father.
- That you learn. Shapes and days of the week and how to write your name. I hope that somewhere deep inside your stubborn brain you already know these things and it will come flowing out of your mouth as if you knew it all along.
- That you will have fun.
- That you will be kind. You will share and play nicely and most importantly you will include anyone who wants to be included. A mean girl you should not be.
- That when you come home to us you will tell us all about your day and you will be excited to go back.
- I hope that you don't cry. Please don't do that. Please go into your room calmly and confidently and even a bit happily. If you start to cry I fear I will start to cry right on the spot and then I won't stop for days. The pregnancy hormones excuse can only take me so far.

This will be good. This change. It will be a transition for us all but naturally it will be worth it. I'll be googling support groups for overly attached mamas on September 5th in case you were wondering.

Oh, this is us on our first days of preschool. Potato. Patato. 1987 was a good year... two future Olsens started preschool at their respective Christian schools (extra baggage in hand of course) and one lanky Trovato started 2nd grade. May you be as excited to start this journey as we I was then...

Melodramatic Laurie... over and out.

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