Here is J (like his beard?) enjoying some after preschool raspberry sherbet. And when I say after preschool, I mean AFTER preschool. Today was his last day. I gave the teachers their little gifts yesterday and teared up. I hugged the director, and I got weepy. I just about lost it when they all left with their little faces painted and one of his teachers told him he looked like a train engineer with his beard. They know him so well. I held it together pretty well gathering up all of his things, but once we were in the car... yup. Cried like a baby. They gave us an envelope with a picture of his class and I can't bring myself to read the little note inside. Wait until the school picnic on Friday. I am going to be a basket case. I know, I know. I'm being a drama queen, but I can't help it.

I think the reason for this emotional overreaction is purely selfish. Yes, he's growing up. Yes, he'll start kindergarten in the fall. Yes, old enough to play little league and ride his scooter in the driveway alone. But it's not that stuff. It's that I love that place. I love the teachers and the director. The other moms. The playground. The church (and I'm not a church-goer). I've taken him there several days a week for two years and nothing but positive stuff has gone on there. I'm really going to miss it.

I asked J if he'll miss it. "Nope." And off he ran to kick around some dust.