Natalie will attend kindergarten in September. She's had her backpack stocked and ready to go since last October. She knows which dress she will wear. She has decided that she'll ride the bus with Connor, share a seat with him, and will sit nearest the window.
Natalie has a little more maturing to do before she is truly kindergarten ready, from taming her temper to using the bathroom when she needs to, not when she desperately needs to. Jim and I reminded her of this all at dinner one night, ending with, " . . . and you do want to go to kindergarten in the fall, right?"
Natalie looked at Jim so earnestly, those big blue eyes bright and wide, and said, "Oh, I want to go so hardly."
We joined friends for brunch, where the grownups ordered mimosas and bloody Marys and the little ones, apple juice and milk and orange juice. When the waiter looked at Connor for his drink order, Connor—who had dressed in jeans, a white button down, a black blazer, and Converse hightops—said, "Green tea, please."
I think we all made the same "Uh. Hmm." face and nodded in approval.
Connor came in from the snow last week, red of cheeks and so very cold, and sat down with a cup of green tea. "Ah," he said after the first sip. "That is the taste of delight."
Natalie has lost her neigh. She makes a really very fabulous horse neigh for a girl who is rarely around horses, and she neighs fairly often while playing. But, Natalie's got a bit of a stuffy nose—a "snuffly nose," she calls it—and raspy voice this week, which has severely compromised her neighing ability.
She stood in the foyer, disheartened as all get out, screeching when she really wanted to be neighing. "This is awful!" She stomped her hoof. Foot. I meant foot. She stomped her foot. "I can't get my snuffles out!"