Heartbreaking

Baby Chalal is in the "big kid" room now, for 2-4 year olds.

In some ways, it's great - more action-oriented toys, kids who use their words to resolve conflicts between themselves instead of whining to the teacher, a new set of stimuli and expectations.

In some ways, it's hard.


No binkies. (That's pacifiers, for the childless)

He has to keep his shoes on. (Everyone we know takes them off at home, and he's been mostly barefoot all summer)

Oh, and his regular teacher (the one he's loved for a year now) plus all the little babies who are now 12-20 months old, are in the next room over. (Almost another planet, in toddler distances)

This morning, rushing to get out the door so Bad Cohen can get to yet another doctor's appointment, we had to practically peel his hands off his new Thomas-the-tank-engine-magnetic-drawing-board (don't ask) as he stomped his little feet, saying, "No! Mommy's house! Mommy's house!!!"

Whee.

I can see a glimmer of what it will be like, years from now, sending him off to seventh grade. (aka the Pit of Despair)