That's right: Caedmon started preschool.
First thing yesterday morning, while attempting to rouse Atticus for the day, I heard Caedmon begin to stir in his bed a few feet away. He usually burrows deeper into the covers for at least a little while, but not on this day: He sat straight up and joyously exclaimed, "PRESCHOOL'S TODAY!"
We didn't have to leave for preschool for nearly an hour after dropping the older two off at the bus stop, so he had plenty of time to get ready and squirm around and not eat his breakfast out of pure excitement. I made him stand on the front porch for pictures before we left, the same as his siblings have every year on their first days; while this induces eye-rolling on the part of the other two, he was so excited to finally be included in this little ritual, he dashed right out the door and held unusually still while I wielded the camera. It was adorable.
He was also wearing a shirt that is too small, his shoes were on the wrong feet, and I'm pretty sure those are his brother's shorts. He was so proud to have "picked out exactly the right clothes for my first day of preschool," I didn't have the heart to make him change.
Then it was time to take him to the school.
Derek had the morning off work, so he and I both got to walk him in.
There was a lot of energy in the school, anxious and excited kids rocketing around, anxious and excited parents standing around, along with the ubiquitous crying kid following the teachers around. Caedmon marched right ahead of us through the door, hanging up his jacket in the coatroom and moving the attendance rock with his name on it to the "present" basket. He hugged each of us several times in farewell, and then Derek and I left.
Thankfully I had somewhere to be immediately after, so my emotions didn't even have a chance to catch up to current events and turn on me. Derek dropped me off at the coffee shop, where I was forced to have a salted caramel latte; I mean, it was our baby's first day of preschool, after all. I coped by spending the bulk of the morning sitting around discussing Jesus and stuff with my friends while Derek went to the gym. To my bible study ladies: You make everything better.
Before long it was time to pick Caedmon up again, where he had tales of chocolate chunk granola bars and a new friend (the crier, strangely enough; Caedmon is not historically the most compassionate or sympathetic of children, so I was heartened by this discovery) and a book about a raccoon.
Hallelujah and pass the peaches. We made it.
UPDATE: Okay, so I was doing fine until I went hunting for these pictures of Atticus headed off to the same preschool a couple years ago with a two-year-old Caedmon, who refused to be left out of the picture:
Or how about this one of an apprehensive Adelaide, headed to a different preschool but with the same teacher?
Look at tiny, 1-year old Atticus! Not pictured is giant me 9 months pregnant with Caedmon, who was born a mere eight days later.
Sheesh. I think this is what they mean when they talk about "borrowing trouble."