I don't think I remember any of my principals from elementary, middle or high school. I could possibly pick my high school principal out of a lineup if I was ever questioned, but it would take a lot of effort to poke around in that part of my memory. I just didn't have a lot of contact with principals or vice principals. A quiet student--I mostly stayed to my closest friend and waited for the final bell to ring so I could rush off to work each day. 

I have more interaction now with principals and vice principals as a parent than I ever did as a student, and I can't say that I necessarily enjoy the weekly exchanges. "Hello Mrs. Doot, I see you brought all your children to school today." Well, what else was I supposed to do...chain them to the bike rack out there? "Hello Mrs. Doot, are you aware Mya has reached the maximum amounts of tardies?" Why yes I am. We follow a strict "at least you made it to school so who cares if you're a couple minutes late" rule at my house. Or "Hello Mrs. Doot, I think we need to have a conference." Why? Because I don't buy into the PTA or scream at my children the whole way to school so we arrive on time? 

Today as I dropped my girls off in their respective classrooms on their first day of school, I felt the presence of someone following close behind me. Refusing to turn around (because that's how I am), I pressed on to Genevieve's classroom to give her a hug since she had run ahead of me, clearly missing the memo that this was a rather big day for her and for me. I hugged her tight and kissed her curly mop of a head, and I turned to find the principal leaning against the door frame. I actually don't know the principal's name; it's just not important to me. But she knows mine. "Hello Mrs. Doot, is there anything I can do to make this year easier for you?" (Clearly referring to getting my kids to school on time and every single day of their blessed lives.) I shook my head and smiled. There was nothing she could do so why even ask the question. She stood there for a moment, waiting for a response I guess, but when I never produced one, she walked away and pestered other parents. I exited Genevieve's classroom but turned around to peek through the door frame. I watched her hop into her chair and smile at the blonde girl sitting next to her. "Hi, I'm Genevieve, and I love my sisters," she said as she pulled the lid off her purple playdoh. Her smile stretched from ear to ear, and I sat there so proud, yet so heartbroken that this little angel girl of mine would now spend more time with her school teacher (and albeit her really frustrating principal) than she would with me. 

Today felt so long and quiet without them. Not a single toy bin was dumped for no good reason, and it sorta made me feel sad. Isn't that the dumbest? As I watched the clock tick slowly, Elle and I colored pictures for the girls and taped them to the door and we decorated a "welcome home" sign in the driveway with sidewalk chalk. I was so happy to see the girls jumping off the bus that I nearly burst at my seams (whatever that actually means), but my insides did actually feel like bursting. I had missed them. 

School is the best and the worst. Principals, in my opinion, are usually the worst. Tardies are the worst. But learning is the best, and I know my girls love school so I am trying to figure out what I will do with myself when all I am surrounded by is a couple of bubbly babies. 

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