The Emerald City

Sometimes it's hard to recognize a good thing even when you're plopped right down in the middle of it. Take the little angel. Yesterday, she left the darkened basement of Oz and entered the sunny, educated-teacher-filled annals of the Emerald City.  New toys, early childhood development-type teachers and dietitian-supervised food.  O frabjous day!  Callooh!  Callay!

Was she happy about it?  No.  Does she realize her mama and daddy had her on a waiting list for this place since November?  No.  Does she understand how difficult finding good childcare in the Kansas City core really is?  NO.  SHE HATES CHANGE.

Now, I can empathize.  I'm not the best with chaos, either.  But at drop-off on the first day, she started sneaking looks at me. I'd been there for about an hour, filling out forms and such.  It was like she could smell my departure. Immediately, she dropped the nearest toy, crawled with the speed of a cheetah over to my leg, scaled it, raised her arms to heaven to summon God Himself, and howled.  Crocodile tears poured down her face.  She opened one eye for a split second, checking to see if her performance was registering, saw that all was going well, and redoubled her efforts.  One of the nice ladies picked her up.  I waved bye-bye, kissed her hot, teary cheek and told her to be strong.  Then I left, cursing her free will as long as I could hear her howls.  Ah, my little girl. She is going to be very strong-willed - I can see that already! 

But then again, part of me is so happy she loves me best.