Higher Education

Out of the blue, The Rock Star looked at me today and said, sternly, "Mommy, you have a lot to learn." Then he finished the hilarious lecture with, "I don't. I finished preschool." Yes, son. You've finished one year of preschool. You're golden. Congratulations. No more schooling for you. I'm sure you've learned all there is to know.

You learned the letters and their sounds.

You learned how to count to twenty only using sixteen numbers. "One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. Sixteen. Nineteen. Twenty."

You learned the song Do Re Mi from The Sound of Music. It goes a little something like this, "Doe a deer, a female deer. Ray a drop of tea. Me a long way to run. Sew a fa a female deer..."

You learned that sometimes fish eat the other fish in what can only be described as a class pet massacre.

You learned that sometimes friends move away. Mommy had no idea that you were so attached to that particular little girl until her moving was all you could talk about for days.

You learned about summer break which prompted the following conversation:
Me: Garrett, tomorrow is your last day of preschool.
G: (as his face falls there is a long pause. Finally he speaks.) Can you sign me up for more?
Me: Yes. I already did. But you have to take the summer off.
G: (horrified) Why?
Me: Because your teachers go on vacation.
G: Where do they go?
Me: I don't know. Places. And they get to spend time at their houses taking a break.
G: My teachers have houses?

So you learned that your teachers have homes. They don't always live at preschool.

You learned about shapes and tracing and dinosaurs and firemen and farm animals and outer space and the ocean and so many other things that I can't keep them all straight.

You learned.

So very much.

And you're so very big.

I guess you're right. The next 18+ years of your education are totally overrated. Who needs calculus when you can count to twenty without needing fourteen, fifteen, seventeen or eighteen?