Teenager in training

First day of preschool was Monday.

As I walked out after dropping off my son, I noticed two little girls in new dresses posed on the playground.

"Smile!" said the mother with the camera in a voice oozing cheerfulness. "First day of preschool!"

It occurred to me that I hadn't taken a picture of my son's first day of preschool.

"So what?" said Tim. "It wasn't his first day of preschool. He's been in preschool for over a year."

Yeah, but I didn't take a picture of that first day, either.

In the past week, lots and lots of "first day of preschool" photos have appeared in the blogs I follow. All the little boys and girls are growing up and going off to school. And I haven't photographed the event.

I should probably feel guilty.

I am writing this, admitting that I'm supposed to be feeling guilt. But somehow I'm not. I just don't feel like feeling guilty right now. Maybe in a year or two when Jonathan asks why I didn't scrapbook his first day of preschool, maybe then I will feel guilty. Actually, I'll probably pull out the paper supplies and tell him to scrapbook it himself.

Now I know I should feel guilty for that last sentence. What kind of a mom makes her child scrapbook his own memories? I'm just really having trouble coaxing out the guilt today. What is wrong with me?

So on to another topic, you now will ask: how does Jonathan like preschool?

Well, when I picked him up the first day of school, he said that he had a lot of fun.

"You did?" said I, "Even more fun than at your preschool in England?"

"Yes!" said he, "Because they have a tube slide here! But I didn't actually go down the tube slide."

"What did you do?" said I.

No response.

"Did you color?"

"No."

"Did you sing?"

"Yes, but we only sang one song."

"What was it?"

Long pause.

"Did you play with playdough?"

"Yes."

"What else?"

Silence.

"Did you make any friends?"

"I don't know their names, but I played with them anyway."

"That's nice. Didn't you learn any names?"

Silence.

"Did you read books?"

"No. You came too soon. I was going to read a book."

"Jonathan, I was the last mother here. I didn't come too soon."

(I think, by the way, I'm supposed to feel guilty for being the last mother to arrive. But again, I'm just not.)

Me: "I couldn't come any later."

Jonathan: Pouty face.

Me: "We can read books at home."

More pouty face.

Me: "What else happened at school?"

"Hmmph."

That's my boy. Four going on fourteen. I wonder if I should feel guilty about that?