Preschoolers Use Forks

It's been about a month since Bry started preschool. It's been one big awe fest (mostly for Steve and I). Each day, we get an email from Bry's teachers outlining the day's activities. I've been carefully archiving these, though I'm not entirely sure why. Perhaps when Bry is 16 he'll want to know how on Tuesday, September 15, 2009, his preschool class had a dance party, rockin' out to "The Freeze" and "The Beanbag." When we ask Bry what on earth "The Beanbag" is, he responds in a sing-songy shriek, "I don't know!" his voice pitching up and down like a ship on the high seas.

Already, he's perfecting the art of teenage ironic ignorance, minus the irony (for now).

The random snippets about his days that he does share spontaneously are almost always convoluted bits of information littered with exclamation points: "Preschoolers use forks! But sometimes they eat finger foods! And sometimes they use spoons!" I can't help but find the way he speaks about himself and his preschool compatriots in the third person endearing.

All in all, Bry seems happy enough with school. Some days he doesn't want to leave, because he's so engaged in digging/driving/splashing/creating/being. A couple of weeks ago he soberly told Steve something along the lines of, "Before, I didn't like it when you went to work. But now I like it when you go to work, because I like to go to school." We smiled, and sighed with relief. All is well. Whew.