School

I took Tommy to school this morning (I couldn't yesterday because I had an early meeting) and AGAIN, I was tearful.  What is wrong with me? Why is this lovely, exciting time causing me only angst?

Mandy has said both days that Tommy has reported only great things when she picks him up.  He says he really likes his big-boy school.  He told her that he's working on writing.  (I am skeptical, but he can write a few letters, his absolute best being his absolute favorite: T.)  Anyway, I took him this morning and when I got it together enough that I didn't think I'd cry if I spoke to the teacher, I asked her how things are going.  She said that the kids are interacting more and that they are doing a lot of talking about the classroom rules.  She has a traffic light, she explained to me, and after a couple of warnings, kids' names are moved to the yellow light from the green one.  And for the ultimate crime of hitting, the perpetrator has his or her name moved directly to red. (Only one of the Chloes was still on red when we arrived this morning.  Tommy was on green.  Phew.)  I asked Miss Jo if he had any difficulty settling down, and she said that he didn't, that he'd been wonderful and enthusiastic -- just an incident or two of snatching toys from others, but that he was immediately apologetic. 

Eli's doing well in Sydney and loves the city and is loving spending time with Em and Sid.  He says Sydney is a lot like San Francisco which of course made me want to move there. Or at least visit once Lizzie is solidly three and will watch TV for hours on end.

Last night, I had to get up twice because the usual getter-upper is out of town (but let's be honest, if you breastfeed two babies for a year each, you're going to get up in the middle of the night so much that Eli will never make it up to me, even if he's the getter-upper until they're 18 and move out).  I went up to Lizzie after she cried and she told me she had a poopy diaper.  I was skeptical, but how bad would I have felt if she did and I made her sleep in it??  So I changed her and, that's right, no poo.  Then, Tommy woke up to go potty and stood at the top of the stairs whisper-yelling:  "MOM AND DAD? THERE'S A MOTH IN THE BATHROOM.  IT'S NOT PRETEND.  IT'S REAL."  So I suggested he use our bathroom, which he thought was a great solution.  "Oh, great idea! Thanks, Mom!"

Finally, last night I ran home from work -- along the Thames -- with my clothes in a backpack.  It was exactly six miles and so pleasant that I would feel cheesy describing it.  Suffice to say that I got my holy-crap-I'm-in-London-how-lucky-am-I feeling back.  Yaaaayy.