Today Jorie attended her first day of school. She's participating in a parent's day out program near one of the colleges I teach at. I drop her off two days a week, then go to work for the morning.
So this morning I picked out her new, pink pleated Old Navy skirt and like a typical chick, tried three shirts on her before I settled on one I liked, a red Gymboree shirt with little cherries on the front. Jorie playfully pointed to her chest and said, "Look mommy. Cherwies."
I packed her Little Chatterbox backpack with all the required, labeled items and packed her princess lunch bag with a piece of string cheese, a generic blueberry breakfast bar, a princess snack cup full of goldfish, a small container of lemon parfait yogurt, and a little cup of fruit. I also included her princess wat
er bottle and a sippy cup with apple juice. I mean, the kid was gonna be in school for four whole hours!
I dropped her off at school with minimal fuss, leaving her to play with three different-sized doll houses with various furniture but not many people. The teachers assured me that my little darling would be fine. Little did they know, I'm the drop-off queen when it comes to leaving my kids with people I trust. They're fine without me! It's the adults I worry about.
Since I was at a good stopping point, I left work a little early this afternoon to see her before the crowds of mommies showed up. I bumped into one of her teachers in the parking lot.
"Jorie did great," she said. "Is she in another program?" Then she told me about how the pastor of the church visited their room. He stood behind Jorie's chair and Jorie pulled her head all the way back to see him, smiling and charming him, giggling playfully.
My one concern when I got there: I'd forgotten to warn them that Jorie's a food bandit. Sure enough, after she polished off most of her own lunch (at least the parts of it they gave her; it gets pretty busy at lunch time and I packed too many different items), she invaded her neighbor's grapes.
Not wanting to leave the day unfinished, Jorie insisted on revisiting her lunch bag and ate her little fruit cup before we left. After washing her hands--several times--splashing in the water and playing with the suds. I finally got her out of there and strapped in. Looking at her in the rear view mirror, I could tell she was exhausted, but not too exhausted to break into her fishy cup, which, it turns out, was storing two of her stolen grapes.
At home, there were no "no nigh night" protests. She didn't need her baby. She didn't need her kiki. She didn't need her music. She just needed her pillow, her bed, and a little quiet.
I was happy to oblige.
Jorie has recently discovered her love for music. Whenever we get into the car, I hear her high-pitched little voice ask: "mama, I want moo-sic." 
