Truth

We got an email the other day about a junior high school orientation meeting for parents next week.

My heart nearly skipped a beat. How can this be? Aren't these babes o' mine just barely three years old?

I started talking to H and M about their first year of pre-school, when they both, but especially H, loooooooooved her Mumma. It was a big cry-fest each Tuesday and Thursday morning. G did not envy me at drop off. He still talks about how happy he was to be safe and sound at work, at his desk, away from the madness.

I remember (on far more than one occasion) picking up the phone and, on the other line, was one of their teachers. "Um, we think that H is saying 'sippy cup'. Could you please maybe just drive it over and drop it off on the table in the lobby? BUT DON'T LET HER SEE YOU!! We think that will calm her down a bit."

I remember being so pleased that their classroom was so small. Two teachers for only eight kids. So, (no joke) one teacher worked with seven kids while the other teacher dealt with my one stinkin' kid who kept asking for her stinkin' sippy cup and slobbering all over herself.

I remember her teachers practically doing backflips to keep her occupied while I left the building.

I remember (well maybe I just imagine) the looks on their faces as we walked in to the building. "Oh dear. Here we go again. Maybe this will be the day when H turns the corner."

I guess my point is...

pre-school teachers don't get paid enough.

(You thought I was going to say something sentimental, didn't you?)...