Dear Octopus: Cashy goes to preschool

I was mad enough that I hissed into the phone, "This makes me so sad. I can't believe work is more important than this." And I hung up like the best telenovela star.

This wasn't any run of the mill hissy fit. This was the day Cash started preschool and got on a bus by.him.self.

The plan was Jeff would park down the street and watch him get on the bus that picked him up from the sitter's driveway. He would snap a few pictures, send them to me, and we would pretend like it was totally normal that our youngest was heading off to school. Head meet sand.

At 9am--twenty minutes before the bus would pick him up--my palms started sweating. At 9:02am I was completely useless to concentrate. At 9:04am my class started to notice. "Do we have a fire drill today?" I explained that Cash was starting preschool and that satisfied them as they are used to my crazy mom antics.

At 9:15am I called Jeff to see if he was in position. No, he wasn't. Something came up at work. I saw red and for the millionth time I was totally annoyed that some yahoo's kitchen remodel was more important than this moment. But you know how that phone call ends.

It took me ten minutes and a phone call to his sitter, Laura, to recover. Yes, me made it on the bus. No, he wasn't scared. His driver was very nice. Oh, and he already made a friend.

Even though I missed the departure I was resolved not to miss the return. I would stalk his return.

Jeff did redeem himself greatly when I saw him parked along the street upon my arrival. Together we watched as our brave Cashy ambled off the bus to the waiting arms of Laura.

Later that day, when I picked him up, I could hear him from the back of the house yell, "Mommy, I went on a bus!" Apparently he told everyone at least three times about the bus he went on, the backpack he wore, the bus he went on, and the bus he went on.