This little Buttercup. This little monkey. This little light of mine…(needs absolutely nothing and nobody to “let” her shine, but appreciates the company just the same).
It’s her first day- of her second year- of preschool. Which is totally, unbelievably, a Big Kid thing to go do. According to this worldly individual, some of the kids were a little sad at drop-off, “because they don’t know how things are yet.” (Luckily those kids had a friend within hand-holding reach to talk about feelings and check out the new puzzles.)
Her new teacher apologized to me before class started. “Her paper acorn says “Susannah,” she told me. “But I know that everyone’s greeting her as Suzy.”
“That’s okay, right?” I asked the blonde social butterfly.
She gave me a thumbs-up. Because the truth is, she likes being called Susannah. She likes being called Suzy. She likes being called Zu, Zuzu, Zooey-Mae, and anything else that rhymes with or sounds like her actual name. She just likes being called.
I have such different feelings about her start to a new school year than I did (and do) about Nora’s kindergartening; everything Susannah’s doing now fills me with such crazy quantities of pride. Because when did she start using that turn of phrase? Combing out her hair? Inventing stories that are actually, legitimately funny? If Nora’s my cautious pioneer, then Zu is my happy-go-lucky pal, the one I can enjoy without questioning every single thing I’m doing with, for, and around her. (Sorry, N.J.) As a result, she’s brave, she’s silly, she’s cool as heck.
She didn’t need me to walk her into class. (I did anyway.)
She didn’t need me to remind her to wash her hands after using the potty. (“You don’t have to keep talking like that,” she said. I did anyway.)
She did need me to swing her around the room to a Springsteen song after her return home, however. Which was a relief.
Because I was gonna do it anyway.
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