It’s nearly impossible for me to believe on multiple levels.
First, how can this baby be graduating from preschool already? (And when, I wonder, will I stop thinking of him as a baby and see him as the big kid he is? My money is on NEVER.)
Second, how are people already members of the Class of 2028? That is basically equivalent to the time frame in which Star Trek took place. I mean, does that not sound like it’s at least 80 years in the future? But it’s not. It’s 13 years away. It’s as close in time to now as 2002. (Which just makes me feel old.)
And finally, we’ll be leaving our beloved preschool behind after tomorrow. It’s basically the coolest preschool on earth, set right in the middle of a giant working farm. The kids hatch chicks in the classrooms in Spring, and when the mama sheep had babies on a school day last year, Farmer Paul called the schoolhouse to let them know, and all the children walked to the barn and saw the tiny, sweet, one-hour-old lambs. It’s sunshine and grass and mud and smelly pigs and funny baby goats head-butting each other in their pens.
We’ve had at least one kid there for the past eight years. When B started there, I was pregnant with O. When G started there, I was pregnant with Q. All my babies have done at least two years of preschool there and the teachers are some of the most wonderful, caring, thoughtful, and nurturing people I’ve had the good fortune to know. They’ve seen our family expand, they’ve seen us grow up, and they know my children in ways that even I do not.
We will miss our beloved farm school. But they’ve more than prepared this little member of the Class of 2028 for the rest of his school career, and for that we will always be grateful.