All Grown Up

He was a baby when we first took his big brother to preschool. Six months old, is all.

So how is it possible that he's old enough to be in preschool himself? Old enough, even, to walk right in, hug me and say, "Bye, Mom."

Old enough to sit on the rug. Old enough to sit at his table. Old enough to play and learn and eat cheese balls? Old enough to carry his bag to school and color a firetruck red?

And how is it that I sat in my car in the parking lot and wondered what to do with myself? What did I do before? How did I spend my time six years ago when I didn't have a baby or a toddler? Four hours a week now I am kidless. Until October when Garrett goes off track, that is.

How is it that I momentarily had the urge to pick up the nearest newborn before hauling myself off to Target and buying new underwear. Because, honestly, if I took my boys with me to buy new underwear they'd be all, "HOW ABOUT THESE NICE UNDERWEARS MOMMY? THESE LOOK GREAT. YOU SHOULD BUY THESE ONES. OH, HI, DUDE FROM OUR CHURCH, MOMMY IS BUYING UNDERWEARS! DO YOU LIKE THE ONES SHE PICKED OUT?"

So I walked around Target and I bought new underwear, in peace, and then I headed myself back to the school to make sureMatthew hadn't already gotten himself expelled.

He hadn't. Apparently he was good all day long. One down. A lifetime to go.