As agreed, Dad again took Monkey2 with him off to work, riding the bus. I drove Monkey1. We left earlier, breezing along so I thought we would be too early, but the last 3/4 mile took as long as the rest of it, so we were right on time.
"There's no parking spot!" said Monkey1 anxiously.
"I'll find a spot," I reassured her, seeing many vehicles with backup lights on, ready to exit their parking spots.
She skipped along, wearing the first day of school dress again (it made it through the washer and drier successfully -- the real test of homemade clothing), and in her classroom she was excited to see the tea party play set out. We stowed her backpack and sweater in her cubby, and then she attached herself to my leg. Firmly. So I hobbled over to the tea set, and squatted down by it so she could sit on the floor with it and the children already playing, and she could still hold my leg. I said a few things. And waited. And stood up. And waited. Another mother gave me "good luck" eyes as she made her exit, and Monkey1 let go of my leg. I waited. Then stepped back. And waited. And she was fine. I thought about saying good-bye or not, then stepped forward, kissed her on top of her head, and walked away. No screams.
I drove to Dad's office and picked up Monkey2, who wanted to know where Monkey1 was. "At school. We're going to the library. What do you want for books?" I asked.
"Lions... and princesses [for Monkey1]... and chickens."
After checking out another dozen plus books, we went to Target to get a birthday present for a cousin's birthday party this weekend. Suddenly I was a mom with one kid in the cart. I wanted to say to everyone who smiled at cute little Monkey2, "I have another one! She's not an only!"
Upon reentry to our house, Monkey2 threw a tantrum. She had refused to eat the apples offered for a snack earlier. I gave her cheerios and milk, which she ate, crying, "I want be by myself!" After three small bowls, she felt much better, so we read two of the new library books, and then piled back into the car to get Monkey1 from school.
At the curb, just outside the school yard fence was a circle of moms. The circle. Suddenly school yards of decades past resurfaced, and I dawdled with getting Monkey2 out of the car.
The teacher saw me first, and so Monkey1 was the first to be let out the gate. She was clutching her bag but had everything that was supposed to be inside it in her arms. She showed me that she had blood on her foot, but would not let me look at it until we were back to the car. A blister had broken. "Next time we'll wear socks," I suggested.
Driving away from school, Monkey2 suddenly realized that she was not going to school, and she howled all the way home. I was able to get her out of her carseat, but then she sat on the sidewalk in front of our house crying about it.
The bead jar ritual perked her up, and the two Monkeys spent several minutes examining my one-pound container of beads, carefully selecting one each to put in their plastic 100 days jars. Monkey1's jar says 100 Days of Preschool. Monkey2's jar just says 100 Days. (Thanks to Henry's 100 Days of Kindergarten .) Lunch. Monkey1 ate four peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and tried a cucumber sandwich since I ate one but decided she didn't like it. Monkey2 asked for more cheerios, but had to settle for peanut butter. "No jelly," she insisted. I asked Monkey1 if she could tell me one thing that she liked about school today; she said she played on the playground with her best friend -- they've been friends since age 2 1/2 -- who is in another classroom.
And then we read all the library books...
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