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Taking My Inner Child to Preschool

Zisi (my youngest) has never been happier. She started at her new school last week and everyday when I drop her off it's like she's going to a cozy Disneyland. There's a courtyard with little benches made for little tushies, a new playground with swings, nice teachers, and she's even making friends. Everyday she brings "Wolfie" to school - her pink stuffed wolf who happens to share all her emotions, allergies, and birthday - puts her backpack in her cubby, and happily goes to play. To be honest, I miss her when she's at school, but I'm getting stuff done and she's having such a good time it's gotta be good for her. But today when I dropped her off I realized that it wasn't just "me" that misses Zisi when she's at school. "Little Shira" misses her, too. You see, Little Shira hated preschool. She cried everyday and hid in a tunnel in the playground so no one would see her weeping. Her mom picked her up late because Mom was always working, and Little Shira would always be kinda happy when she was sick because it meant she got to stay home, or even better, go to Mom and Dad's office to lie on the couch and watch dailies or her favorite episodes of 90210 (Mom and Dad were writer/producers). Today, seeing how happy my daughter is, seeing her teacher give her a big hug to meet her big smile, made me feel a longing to be near her. And it occurred to me that Little Shira wants to go to preschool with Zisi. So I cried. A lot. I cried sitting in my car while I imagined walking into school holding two little hands in mine: Zisi with Wolfie on my right, and in my left hand Little Shira and Uni (my old stuffed unicorn). I saw both of them smiling and laughing together with their furry little transitional objects, playing on the playground and feeling happy and safe and carefree. Instead of scared and anxious and lonely. It was a sad and joyful and healing car ride. I got to yoga and did a little silent weeping on my mat while the teacher said something nice about listening to your body. And I grieved for the lost years. Crying for what Little Shira never had and the past that I can't change, and feeling immense gratitude for where I am now, and for the smiles I see when I drop my kids off at school.


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