I was (am) a loved daughter. When I was in the first grade, I knew I was loved. I had a rainbow striped dress that made me feel especially pretty, and when I accidentally dumped an entire bottle of Elmer's glue in my lap during achievement tests, my dad came and picked me up. Without complaint. And he let me wear my rainbow striped dress back to class. Even though it was totally out of season.
I had new Crayons and an American flag pencil box. My mom read me stories every night (a habit we continued for years--a habit that, honestly, we still continue, reading bits and pieces of interesting articles back and forth across the kitchen table).
But there was nothing quite like book order day to make me feel truly special. Book orders! Those thin, flimsy little fliers filled with fun things: choose your adventure! Sweet Valley High! Kitten posters! Oh, how I loved book order day.
R.J. started school two weeks ago. And, to my childish delight, he brought home a book order! Flimsy. Smells like old newsprint. Order forms no longer required (we order online now). We're starting early--he's only three. But, when book order day comes, he too will know the insurmountable joy of a new story at bedtime. (no kitten posters this time).
And I hope that when the inevitable call comes telling me that the "Big Issue" has indeed occurred*, I will collect him from school, clean him up, and remember to let him wear his favorite Thunder t-shirt back to class. Even if it's snowing and totally out of season.
*the "Big Issue"--having been previously defined as "Mommy, I need to go poop! We gonna have a big issue!"
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