Last night was The Rock Star's preschool orientation. Being that this is his third year at the same school, it wasn't like he needed a lot of information on how the year would go but it's always exciting to meet his new teachers. This year, the school added another classroom upstairs so we were eager to see what it looked like.
He asked me all day, "Is it time to go to preschool yet?" This is the same kid who, two years ago, violently kicked the director and screamed for me when I tried to leave him on his first day thus causing me total and catastrophic humiliation. Of course, this is also the same kid who was scared to death that we weren't going to get to keep his baby brother and terrified that he'd be given to someone else as well. So I'd cut him some slack. Not a lot. But some.
When it was time to leave I told him to go to the bathroom. I finished a conversation I was having with my husband and then wondered aloud, "What is he doing up there?" Just then I heard the familiar sound indicating that he was finally using the toilet.
"He's going to the bathroom," Troy supplied, "like you asked him to."
"But he's been up there forever."
Garrett appeared at the top of the stairs. "What were you doing?" I asked him.
He grinned at me. "Do I look better?"
He looked the same. "Um," I began cautiously, "Yeah. What did you do?"
"I sprayed my hair and smoothed it down like this," he demonstrated with his hands. "And I shaved." He rubbed his face. "Now I'm ready to go to preschool."
Let it be said that Garrett has a plastic toy razor that my parents bought for him. He busts it out on special occasions, when he wants to look really nice. His father and I caught each other's eye and the look that passed between us spoke volumes. We have the most charming kid. Ever. Period.