And then it brought him back again.
(Standard-sized preschooler-dwarfing backpack required by the school. He chose this one because of its color resemblance to YOU WILL NEVER GUESS WHAT.)
He made puzzles and there was paint and he ate a snack and snack was pananas and pretzels, yeah, two things! and yellow backpack and then the school bus. THE SCHOOL BUS, MOMMY. The school bus is coming back, Mommy? The school bus again tomorrow again?
(It was a little less exciting for us this morning. Something more like your throat collapsing from the inside, once we said goodbye and watched the bus drive off, knowing that he would be met by total strangers on the other end, people we haven't even met yet, ushered into a classroom we haven't seen, the veil of our all-encompassing involvement in everything he does slowly getting drawn, as it will more and more, but oh! not yet, not yet.)
(Seeing the [totally non-short, by the way] bus come back around our corner a few hours later was MY favorite part of the day, second maybe only to seeing his delighted face in the window and hearing him gleefully shout "THAT'S MY MOMMY!" to his fellow passengers. Take THAT, stupid veil, you dickwad.)
(Incidentally, the forms? ARE STILL IN HIS BACKPACK. I am starting to think that maybe my terrible fearful fear of real and/or imaginary authority figures is something I can let go of, a little bit.)
(SCHOOL BUS SCHOOL BUS SCHOOL BUS MOMMY MOMMY I RIDE ON THE SCHOOL BUS MOMMY SCHOOL BUS)