Nothing is Ever Perfect

One of these days, I'm going to photograph Peter's face when Miss Mary, his teacher's assistant, comes to get him out of the car. He grins so big, you could stick a tennis ball in his mouth.

I've no doubt that he is enjoying preschool, judging from his excitement when he finds out it's a school day and the way he talks about it when he gets home. I'm also realizing, though, that even positive experiences have tension.

Peter has been sticking his fingers in his mouth. It's not sucking, but more of an absent-minded gnawing when he wants to relax. It's appearance has coincided with his return to school this fall. At first, he might have been imitating someone in the class, but at this point, the habit is his own.

It makes me sad.

It makes me realize, too, that his breakdowns when I come to pick him up aren't just that he doesn't want to leave. I think part of it is that he needs an emotional release. His teachers continue to tell me how well-behaved he is-- but knowing what a firecracker he can be with me, I know that he has to be repressing a lot at school. I almost... sort of... wish that he would feel comfortable enough to misbehave, just a teeny-weeny bit, when he is with other people.

Of course, the first time I get a bad report, I'm sure I will take all this back.