Letter to Greta: Last Day of School (2 1/2-year-old class) / 43 Months

Dear Grets,

Well, you did it: you made it through your first year of preschool. It started off dramatically, with so many tears and so much clinging and sadness. I'll never forget peeking into your classroom after your first day of school, expecting a happy, proud baby, and seeing instead your sad, tear-streaked little face, lips quivering, barely holding it together--and then you losing it completely when you finally caught sight of me. I don't think you've ever sobbed so tragically. We started your preschool experience by sobbing together as the other kids and parents milled about.

Happily, things changed for you. For a while, you cried when I left, and I spent the first two weeks of school hanging out in a nearby meeting room just in case you needed me (you didn't). Eventually, you gave me sad, worried looks, but no longer cried. And then--it all clicked for you. You gave me a hug goodbye and traipsed into the classroom with nary a backward glance. I won't go so far as to say you became outgoing--but you had fun, and made some little friends, and finally understood that preschool was okay.

Now here you are, your first year of preschool behind you. So much drama, for so little time--just two mornings a week, 2.5 hours each. Truly, no time at all, but to a tiny baby like you it really must have seemed so big, so daunting. But you did it. It's hard for me to imagine you two years from now, doing the stuff Lucia's doing in pre-K, but you'll get there.

Funnily enough, as much as you've changed, your love of My Little Pony remains as strong as it was on your first day of school.

Aside from school, OH MY LORD have you become a holy terror. Mercurial, naughty, hell-bent on making routine tasks as difficult as possible. It's like living with an insane person. Yesterday, I called you and Lucia to dinner--Trader Joe's tortellini. You stood in the living room and screamed "NOOOO! NOT TORTELLINI!! I HATE TORTELLINI!!" and mustered all your energy to produce a few forced, hysterical sobs. No whining, no protesting, just full-on dinner meltdown--eyes squeezed shut, tears streaming down your red face, the world was ending because of the cheese tortellini on your plate. I chose not to engage, told you that this was dinner but it was your choice whether to eat it or not. I then suggested you eat just the white tortellini. "Oh! Yes!" you said, brightening, and you skipped over to the table and declared, "I will eat the orange tortellini. I will eat all of them!" Then cleaned your plate. Seriously--an insane person.

Combing your hair is the bane of my existence. The only thing that seems to work--when it works--is my telling you that if I don't comb your hair, it will become a nest, and I'll have to cut it "short like a boy." This hits home for you. You still writhe and scream, but you'll let me do it. Except on the days you don't. You had a near-dreadlock forming on the back of your head a few weeks ago--I thought I was going to have to cut it out. Sigh. You have thick, curly hair--my legacy. Forgive me, little one.

You are also reveling in your ability to make Lucia freak out. You know exactly what toy or object to grab and run with, holding it tight to your chest like a football and just running for dear life, often screaming, "Try to catch me!!!" You don't negotiate, you don't bargain, you don't respond to threats or ultimatums. You...just..annoy. You have discovered your power, and it is something to behold.

You're three and a half! Help us all. Good thing you're cuter than cute, little beauty.

Favorite toys/activities: playing on the patio, My Little Pony, Playmobil animals, magnetic dress-up dolls, painting with water, collecting stones etc

Favorite books: Alice & Greta, A Little Princess (easy reader), a book in Spanish Andrew brought from Mexico, princess books