Montessori Mayhem, Part II

Dear Internet,

You are officially a bad influence. 

Egged on by YOU PEOPLE, I did indeed turn in an About My Child form with this doodle on it. I did not stick around long enough to see Ezra's teacher read it, because I am a coward.

Also, there was a parents' breakfast down the hall, and they had muffins. 

Ezra had a slight attack of the I'm-not-so-sure-about-this-school-thing this morning. 

He's so fearless and confident and verbal and smart and chomping at the bit for big-kid stuff, that sometimes I forget. I forget that yes, he needs just as much reassurance and patience as any other two-and-a-half-year-old getting ready to leave mom behind for the first time ever. 

Or, in this particular case, a good distraction, like being allowed to carry his very own umbrella.

He left the classroom at one point and plopped himself out in the hall in a fit of defiance, demanding to know where I was.

(Shoving my face full of muffins, is where I was, while Baby Ike was passed around the room from mom to mom like a squooshy little football, igniting baby fever like wildfire.)

I peered around a doorway while an aide and the school director tried to coax him back to class, resisting the urge to run down there and scoop him up and like, hiss at anyone who continued to insist that this child, THIS BABY, was an honest-to-God preschooler now. I was wrong! This is all a mistake! I take it back! We're going home to have a picnic in the living room and then I shall nom on his cheeks all day, as usual!

Something somebody said to Ezra apparently clicked, and he jumped up and ran back into the classroom with a big smile. That was the last I heard or saw of him until it was time to go home. He emerged with a conflicted look, both clearly relieved that I had not completely abandoned him to the Montessori way of life, but also...well, the block tower, Mom. The block tower is AWESOME. 

Before we left I let him have a muffin and some juice from the parents' breakfast. He spilled the juice but helped clean it up, and then spotted a plate of "acorns" someone made out Hershey Kisses and cookies (based on the school's logo; preschools around here looooooove themselves some acorn-to-mighty-oak imagery). He looked at me. Please say yes, please say yes, his big eyes pleaded. 

(Honestly, I was a little shocked he didn't already have like, seven of them in his mouth already. Clearly, this place is already civilizing him.)

Of course, I said yes. 

If you ask him about school, he'll tell you all about it: "I had fun. I ate a chocolate chip."