Don't let the door hit you on the way out, Mom

I have now been back to work for two full weeks. Evie has been going to daycare for a month at least part time. We started taking her at least a few hours each day, so the adjustment and transition would be as smooth as possible when I had to be away all day long.

Her daycare is not so much a daycare as it is a preschool for tiny people. Owned and ran by a former public-school teacher, the kids are in classes by age, are read to, taught songs, their colors and numbers. They draw and color pictures, play games and of course, they have a lot of time just to play.

All of the things I do with her at home, they do with her at school. And she has the bonus of doing all those things with six friends her age.

And thus, on the days that I work and we take her to "school," she all but leaps out of our arms to the floor of her class, or to her teacher. We were worried that she would cry or have a hard time transitioning, but instead, I believe if she could speak in complete sentences, Evie would say "don't let the door hit you on the way out, Mom."

This morning, I didn't have to go to school, and so, neither did Evie. I am only working part-time this year and I rotate every other Friday off. Unaware of my teaching schedule, Evie brought me her shoes and insisted I put them on her. I finally obliged her after a few minutes of her continued handing her shoe to me, trying to shove her foot in herself. When I was finished lacing them, she grabbed my hand, led me to the front door, and then stood there, reaching for the knob, saying "go?"

When I told her we weren't going anywhere, (it was 8:30 in the morning, there was no place for us to go) she collapsed into a pile of tears.

Apparently I'm not nearly as fun as the kids at school.