We all knew it! He really is fantabulous.

I started work at Turner's school yesterday. Yes, I know, I have enough going on but something devastating happened to our money tree and airfare only increases in price everyday. So, I'm doing something I can and that is getting paid to hang out at Turner's school and act goofy with little kids. It is good for my spirit, although it makes me sadly face how desperately I want more children. 

Yesterday I get to work, sweaty from running blocks and blocks from school in not running but teaching shoes, a pencil skirt, and earrings that kept slapping me in the eye. I am directed into the infant room (great! Diapers and snotty noses). I'd already listened to undergraduate seniors cry and whine all morning begging to get into my class. I somehow get my crochety self on the floor while maintaing some modesty with a skirt. I sing songs. I tell stories. I stuff animals inside a bug catcher. I pull them out. I yell "hurrah" about one thousand times and says "awesome" more than I want to admit. I learn all the children's names. I throw sand. I bury my feet. I bury Gabe's feet. I pat a baby doll and change a diaper and feed snacks and wipe up messes and pour water and say over and over, "good job." I smile a lot. I wipe noses (I ALWAYS hated it when I picked up Turner and his nose was runny). I wipe a lot of noses (what is it, PK, with toddlers and their runny noses?). I dance with abandon in the sand yard while the kids laugh, take turns joining in and the other teachers look on. At 5, an hour before my out-time, the last child leaves. We get paid until 6 so I go to Turner's room. I read him a story. I hear about his day. I convince him - finally - to head home. I tell him about my day at his school. He confesses that he and Tristan saw me through the window with the "babies, but they all knew you were my Mommy so that's OK."

As I am signing Turner out into my care and signing out the employee log sheet, the director sits before me and asks, "How was it?"

"Great."

The other teacher arrives. Then another. Within a few moments they all have been at the desk to tell me the same two things: First, they are surprised that I seemed to speak and act and respond in all the ways that child psychology says is most beneficial for kids. Second, to tell me that Turner is a marker of kid health and intelligence and that reading the books really did work. 

I tell Turner about all the compliments as we drive home.

"Although you weren't quiet at nap time today [!], your teachers all think you are pretty spectacular. What do you think of that?"

"I think that is right."

"Oh yeah. Well, I agree."

"Yeah."

"Why are you so special?"

"Because I just am."

"Do you try really hard to be so special?"

"Yes. I do. Yeah I really do."

"Well, it's working. You are so special and so smart."

"Yeah. I am."

"I am so proud of you when you are the good boy Turner. I love to hear your teachers say nice things about you."

"They say nice things about you too."

"Really? Well that is nice."

"Yeah. Ms. Carolyn says you are fabulous."

"Well, I think you are FANtabulous too."

"That's not real Mom."

"Anything can be real if you think about it long enough."

"Oh."

"Well, maybe not anything. But I really do think you are fantabulous. You and Mommy just need to figure out what that means."

"Oh. Well..." he thinks. A block away. "I think it means that I don't have to take a nap at home anymore."