Finding his place.

It's seven thirty five in the morning and Ethan isn't up yet. This is a miracle, as if I woke up with long, beautiful hair.
I took Ethan to preschool yesterday. He walks through the door so ready; ready to play and paint and sit at circle time and leave me at the door. This isn't a bad thing, just a little unexpected since he's done this from day one. As a mommy, you expect a little hesitation, a little clingyness to your pant leg, a little glance at least.
Nope.
Through the door, without a goodbye, unless I say, loudly, "Ethan! Tell your mama goodbye!"
And then without really looking at me he says, "Bye Mom," and that is that.
I always feel somewhat jilted as I walk back through the hallway by myself, carrying Noah in his big ole' carseat that I hate to lug around even though it is good for my biceps. But, by the time I get to the parking lot I am feeling great, free as a bird, thinking about all the wonderful things I can do with four hours, three-year old free, such as sleep! and read. And that's what I do until it's time to go pick him up again.
This heavenly situation is finished as of yesterday since I start work on Monday, but boy was it good while it lasted.
Pick up time is exciting. A reunion. I am anxious to see Ethan again, and usually, he wants to see me too. He doesn't always want to leave--OK, he never wants to leave--but at least I see his eyes brighten when he firsts sees me. Then they usually darken and his lips set downward and his eyebrows slant. "I don't wanna go home!"
Then we go through that whole routine (if you have ever had a three year old, or watched a parent trying to get their three year old to leave anywhere fun, like the park, or Nawnie's house, or even the doctor's office, you know what I mean).
His artwork--out of the-lines painting, hand-print leaves, whole pictures colored completely with one crayon--are like chocolate for my eyes. They always paint a picture of a part of him--he's diligent, thorough, a mini perfectionist--I know this because he actually wants to finish his art; do you know how hard it is to get some three, four and five year olds to color something with more than just one line, one stroke, of color?
We walk back to the car together, carrying his two blankies and his art and Noah and my purse and other miscellaneous papers, all the while talking about what he learned that day, or how he shared with someone, or didn't share with someone, how he rolled around at nap time but didn't get sent to the office (His teacher is kinder than I am).
I love it when he talks about "Miss Fawn" or when he teaches me a new song he learned. Makes him seem so grown up, so a part of this big world we all share. It's neat to see him begin to take his place, to see where he fits, what he brings to share.