Jake is officially a preschooler.  I'm a mom with a kid in school.  The pre- is just a formality.  It's school, for all intents and purposes.

He has a cubby, with his name on it.

It's cubby hole number 7.

When we spoke about his cubby hole (he thought he might be getting a locker) the other day, he said he didn't like the sound of it.  I asked him why, and he said something about how a pit full of baby bears doesn't sound like something they should have in a school.
I laughed, he got upset at me for laughing at him.

I would never laugh at him, but I'm often laughing with him.  He just doesn't know he's funny.

Yet.

He picked out his clothes all by himself.  That generally works out well, everything in his closet matches everything else.  Purposely and by design.  It's a secret that I learned from an old client.  She was addicted to crack, but in a sort of functional way.  She hid it for a long time by making sure that her children and herself were never mismatched or messy.  The trick is to stick to either black and grey or brown and tan for the base colors and no patterned pants or skirts.  Everything matches black or brown, but black and brown and plaid and stripes together can make one look color blind.  Or crazy.  Or cracky.

Jake is excited about Show and Tell, and wants to take his General Lee.
Jake will not be taking his General Lee.
One because it is loud.
Two because it is loud due to buttons that, when pressed, make a yee-haw noise and play the Dixieland horn noise.
Three because there is a Confederate flag on top of it.
The General Lee will be staying in the house.  I've learned my lesson about that one.

He missed Show and Tell anyway.  It was last Wednesday.  Today they go to the Public Library.

This month focuses on Self-Help skills, like buttoning and zipping and snapping.  Jake is a terrible buttoner and zipperer and snapper.  He hates those things on his clothes so I respect that by not buying things that button or zipper or snap.  But now he can't do that stuff so well.  It was something I worried about regarding his going to school.  Probably the first thing, actually.  I even lost a bit of sleep wondering if they will think I'm a terrible mother because my kid can't zip his coat or if they will think he is somehow mechanically delayed because he only wears elastic waisted pants that don't button.
I do that.  I push the normal worry stuffs out of my brain and focus on something irrational or inconsequential so that I don't dwell on the real scary stuff.

They feed him there.  Breakfast and lunch.  I don't need to pack anything.  I am not allowed to pack anything.  No more little Rubbermaid containers of Cheerios or asking Jake whether he wants peanut butter and honey or jelly (or on rare occasion, fluff) and him telling me that Charmaine makes him ham and cheese or hotdogs if I don't pack him a sandwich so maybe I can pick what I want with peanut butter and put it in my bag instead so he can get something he actually wants for lunch.  The kitchen is on-site, and everything is prepared fresh.

Which is more than I can say for my kitchen.

Dave and I dropped him off this morning, very early.  Earlier than we will normally drop him off.  Earlier than most kids get dropped off.  There were two little girls in the "breakfast room" who were about his age.  I'm guessing that they will be in his class.  They walked right up to him together and introduced themselves and he seemed okay with the whole thing.  I'm glad we were early so he can see the kids as they file in rather than him walking into a full room of kids that already know one another.
The lunchlady- well- breakfastlady was sort of a crank, but it was 7am and I try not to judge anyone before 9.

I used to hold rank in this school when the organization that runs the building and the programs was under the contract that I work for, but they are no longer part of my program.  Everyone who I've had any contact with over there knows what I do, and that's good because it gives me a bit of an insider's edge.
Not that I'd ever pull that card, but it's in my back pocket if I ever need it.
Why does that matter?  It doesn't.  I know that this place is super and one of the best around.
But just in case.
Not that there should ever be a case.

I think I'm okay with all this.  It's exciting.  We're all ready.  There were no tears.  Not from Jake, not from me.  A lump, perhaps.  But maybe I'm just coming down with something.