Turns out that preschool isn't all that fantabulous. Sarah tearfully holds on to her daddy when he drops her off early in the morning and cries for joy when both her parents pick her up in the afternoon. She's not the only kid who cries and I've heard that she even tried comforting a little boy who was especially tearful during nap time. I'm not there to see it, but just hearing about her experience is heartbreaking. My rational self knows that this is necessary and she will grow and it will less traumatic for her over time, but another part of me is secretly planning a preschool prison break...

You know you're having a really bad day at work when people give you that hopeful good-bye in which the "see you tomorrow" ends off in a slight up turn as if asking "right?"

I wonder if I wasn't a pessimist that I wouldn't walk away from work all wound up and aggravated. Not that I think all optimists are all happy and love their jobs, but maybe they don't want to stick their head in a bucket at the end of the day.

Today is Sarah's first day of preschool. I heard that she was excited to go, so I'm hoping that she's having lots o' fun. I imagine preschool being a fun place, but I don't really remember much of my own preschool experience. One of my select memories from that time is the boy who ate the dog biscuits that were used for learning to count.

I plan on calling home tonight, so I can ask about her day. Hopefully she'll be in a chatty mood and will tell me about all sorts of new and fantastic things.