It's my birt-day. And I like yours shess.

Today is my sweet Bubs' birthday. He's four. And that's big, in case you're wondering.

Yesterday at preschool, he was excited to donate his favorite book (Goodnight Moon) to the classroom to celebrate his birthday. I was invited to spend the afternoon with him in class, something I've been really looking forward to. He carefully took me by the hand and guided me to his classroom where he busied himself with backpack hanging, hand washing, snack stashing among other arrival rituals.

Throughout the afternoon, he took such care to be sure I understood where to go, when to sit, and what to play with. He was a fine example as he picked up after himself, cleaned up his snack and treated the other children with kindness and respect. I couldn't have been prouder of him, and in my pride I began to imagine how admired I must be by his teachers. What a model of maternal success I represented.

We sat down for circle time. Miss H reminded the children of their previous discussions about compliments...what constitutes a compliment and how to respond when complimented. It was sweet Sahasra's turn to receive compliments. She sat in front of the other children in her pink skirt and white, sequined top as the children offered up their compliments in turn. Mrs. S. recorded the compliments on a page to be saved and sent home with the student. One child liked her shoes, another admired her hair. Thank you, thank you, she replied with Miss H's gentle prompts. Then Miss H turned to my birthday boy and asked for his compliment.

"I like yours shess," he said, quite simply.
"You like her dress, Finn?" Miss H questioned.
"No, I like hers shess." he corrected.
silence...
"You like her shirt?" I asked.
"I like her shess." he offered, a little more loudly, a subtle note of frustration in his voice this time.
"What is it Finn?" Miss H asked again, still not understanding.
"Oh, you like her sparkly top?" I asked, hoping, but fighting unsuccessfully against the heat I could feel rising.
"No! I like hers shess!!" He blurted out in frustration as he thrust up his shirt to his chin and pointed at his own chest, "THESE...I LIKE HERS SHESS!"

silence

"Well, I don't think we ought to write that down." Miss H whispered to Mrs. S.

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