What, Me Worry?

School? Who's going to school? I'm going to where? WhoBob WhatPants?

Today I took Hank, Prince of the House, to a teacher meet-and-greet at his new preschool. He'll be in a class of three year-olds for a few hours every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Any time that this subject has been broached in the last few weeks, he has allowed that while doesn't want to go to school, not really, he will go later. Okay. Later is fast approaching.

Last week I had him riding in the buggy at Target when he espied the sale lunchboxes in the school supply section. Thinking this might be a new marketing strategy, I let him pick one out and told him he would be carrying it to school. He gripped the lunchbox handle and said, "Can I go to school right now?" I thought, hmm, surely that was too easy. In the days since then, I've been weaving a beautiful narrative about his matriculation at preschool, but the lunchbox is the only part of the story that holds any appeal for him. We've packed it with a sandwich and a banana many times in our imaginations. What happens after that is a little fuzzy.

This morning, though, I dressed him in his favorite t-shirt, the one that says, "Pow!" and off we went, into the very belly of the beast. There are two teachers for his class of 12 kids, and they are both very warm and welcoming. We spent half an hour in the classroom--Hank playing with racecars and me chatting up the moms--and he seemed perfectly happy to be there. He brought his Star Wars lunchbox to show the teachers, and he gave one of them a full tour of its features, pointing out "the Stormtroupers, who are bad guys, and Yoga." Then he came up to me and said, "Can we get out of this room?"

We went out to the playground, where another half hour of fun was had. Then, of his own accord, he told me he was ready to go home. That just doesn't happen on the playground. He said, "When we get home, can we have some juice and play a TV game?" I said sure. He added, "And maybe we can take a little rest?" I think his one hour of school visiting wore him out, but somehow he's gonna have to make it from 9:30-1:00.

Matt and I went to the parents' meeting last night, and we like the program. It's long-established, it's not far from our house, and people love it and send all their kids through there. My only concerns are:

• Their car drop-off routine in the morning is that the parents pull up, the teachers get the children out of the cars and escort them to their rooms. The kids carry their own little bags and eventually learn the way to their rooms. The parents don't come into the classrooms in the morning, but only at pick-up time. This will make it harder for us to spend twenty minutes hugging goodbye, which is the minimum amount of time I need.


• Pottytraining is a requirement for the 3 year-olds, which we've got covered. Whew! But the children are expected to pretty much be pretty self-sufficient with all the toilet-related behaviors: wiping, dressing, washing hands. This set of expectations may put a damper on Hank's practice of emerging from the bathroom twirling his undies and pants in his hands, yelling, "I'm a naked boy! I just pooped! I want a treat!" They may not look as benevolently on that behavior, and I would hate for his little spirit to be stifled, you know.


• Mostly I'm worried that they won't know he is the Golden Child--that they might not see the subtle glow that shines from him at all times. But that's silly! They'll see it, won't they? WON'T THEY?

So next Wednesday is the day. I've got a week to sell the idea to him. I've got the Stormtroupers and Yoga on my side. Do not doubt that I will keep you posted.