The sky is falling in great wet sheets. Above the clouds, an angry voice screams. The night pulses with electricity.
But you are asleep in your bed. And you do not stir. Not as the lightning strikes. Not as the thunder booms.
On the eve of your second week of preschool, I think you are still exhausted by the first.
You made us proud. You didn't cry or protest when we dropped you off that first day — truth be known, there was little we could do to hold you back when that door swung open.
On the second day, a little boy said mean things to you. You resisted any temptation to respond in kind. So proud.
Yes, you are learning things there that we could not teach you here at home. Still, it comes at a cost. The days are long. And you haven't yet figured out how to use nap time for its intended purpose. You're so very tired.
I'm glad you're sleeping through this storm. You need your rest. Another week of school begins in just a few hours.
You're doing great.
Love,
dad
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