We played school today.
I suggested it on the ride home. From school. The place where she cries every morning as a teacher peels her off of my leg.
She immediately responded with more enthusiasm than I’ve seen her expend for most things these days. Excitement over dessert? Pales in comparison to how over the moon she was when I suggested we play school.
Later, at dinner, when we recounted the afternoon for Daddy, she told him it was her idea to play. All her idea.
I don’t always know what to do when she lies. But I let this one slide.
For nearly an hour, she dropped her brand new mermaid doll off with me. She gave me explicit instructions about snacks and naps and playing with friends. She consoled and hugged and talked in soothing tones to the mermaid who was sad and crying and didn’t want Mommy to go. And then she left.
She walked into the dining room and counted to ten. And then she came back for pick up.
She didn’t linger. She didn’t talk with the teacher or ask about the day. She scooped up her girl and she left.
Ten seconds after drop off.
For nearly an hour. A dozen drop offs. A dozen pick ups.
I don’t love playing school. I don’t really even like it. It’s tedious. It’s tiresome. It’s horribly repetitive.
But it’s not about me.