Samuel started preschool yesterday.
And maybe I am admitting too much (so, what's new, right?) but in the rush to get to school on time, we forgot to take his picture before school. A second child thing? But, not to worry, we got some by the tree right after school. Yeah, and maybe I had to threaten him to stop scowling. Something about not being able to go to the dollar store later if he didn't smile.
That dollar store trip was because of another momentous occasion. The loss of his first tooth.
Can someone please tell the tooth fairy that she needs to stop bringing some kids presents and five bucks? Some of us have lot's and lot's of teeth to go. Thanks!
He was chomping some delicious roasted corn on the cob and the MN state fair and it came loose. Was already loose, but the corn just seemed to set it free. It set some tears free, too. Four seems a little early to lose a tooth, but Samuel does his things his own way.
So Samuel came walking out of school with his crown on upside down. And then when it was right side up, he thought it was really funny to wear it over his eyes. Whatever the case, this photo shows his missing tooth really well.
And keeping with tradition, we got a picture of you last year by (or behind) the tree. Looks like it wasn't easy to get a picture of you back then, either.
So, I was thinking...
One day Samuel is going to want to know what he was like when he was a kid. Hopefully he will want to remember some silly old habits because he will have grown out of them and they will sound really funny to a well-mannered man. Hopefully.
These are a few things that I might tell him:
So, in fear, I made sure you got lots of sleep, made sure you ate before we left, got the early (yes, early), and prepped you over and over. Grandma was even worried. She promised you a trip to the dollar store (man, that store has a lot of power for you).
Your teachers were ready, too. For times when you do things like wave your "Mary's little lamb" in front of your friend's face. She could stop you. Sometimes you were so lucky that you had two teachers "helping" you.
I will tell you that you there was once a time that you picked your nose right in the middle of your preschool program. And you will think it is funny and say, "I can't believe I ever did that" because you will have quit that long long ago (please?).
I will tell you that when your teacher handed your tiny diploma, you asked if you could have two. You liked to always have one more than what was offered.
I will tell you that you did a great job in your program and that we all took a huge deep breath when it was all over.
I will show you this picture of you jumping off the diving board and tell you that is how you basically approached life. I will tell you that almost every where we went you would scare someone by jumping, falling, climbing, and they will hurry and tell me as if I could stop you somehow. They didn't know that I was totally used to it. Sometimes I would even pretend like I was surprised, just for them.
I will tell you about how you liked to help your dad. As long as it was fun. About the time that you carried the slate scraps around to the side of the house. How you wanted to work with your shirt off. About how it took just a few heavy loads with your hands before you showed up with your Tonka truck to help you carry the load with ease.
I can't look at that picture without giggling. Your tiny muscles, your serious face, your squat, everything.
I will tell you about the time the carpet cleaner came and how much you loved him. You thought he was so neat because his "real" job was a fire man. You followed him around and talked and talked and asked question after question until he said, "He talks to me more than my own son! I love it!" He even let you help.
I will tell you about how much I loved to watch you (finally) sleep. I will tell you about how I loved it how your lips got all boogie when you were sleeping (and hopefully that will not have changed).
I will tell you about the night that you made your dad make you a new car with his printer box. You wanted a big truck this time. It was so big and you loved it. It was so big that you got stuck when you walked into the step. You just kind of tipped forward and then called for help.
You let Dad have your old car. The car that was made out of a fruit box. The car that you got at preschool the year before and loved so much. The car that was good enough until the giant truck came along. You made dad put it on. He barely fit. You honked for his car. It sounded like this "mee-meep." You honked for your truck. It sounded like this, "HONK HONK!!!"
I will tell you about how you used to cover yourself in a towel or blanket or curl up in your night shirt and then insist that we look for you. You really thought we mistook your for a rock. I will tell you that I wondered when that would wear off. Maybe I will show you "What's Eating Gilbert Grape?" and when you laugh at Arnie, I will tell you that you did the exact same thing.
I will tell you (like I do right now) that you used to be so cute (and then I will laugh at my own joke). I will tell you that inside that tiny body was the biggest personality I had ever seen.
Here's to a great year full of great memories and more great stories that I will be able to tell you when you are older.
