Peter's mostly-wonderful tenure in the Orange Star Room is officially over. I went this morning to his lovely graduation ceremony, which included a public vow taken by all the mothers in unison to invite the preschool director to every subesequent important event in the child's life: weddings, college, graduate, medical, law school graduations, etc.
The kids sang some songs quite cheerfully, and mostly behaved themselves the whole time (although the girls were noticeably more dressed up and more into Good Behavior than the boys were.) Each child received his or her certificate in turn, and then we retired to another room for cookies and punch. The teachers were sentimental, the kids were mostly just hopped up on sugar and Special Occasion, the parents ranged from dutiful to tearful (highly gender segregated divide there.) It seemed to me as though we were (in contrast to the kind of critique this type of event usually draws) inculcating the kids into what it means to be middle class: you go to a safe and clean school where there are always plenty of snacks and books and toys and supplies, and your teachers and your parents keep careful watch over you, and eventually you graduate. This cycle repeats itself as needed until you're a lawyer/doctor/professional of some sort, and all is well. It's not a bad model, although not the best one I can think of necessarily, but there is a certain tenderness included in raising children one can nurture and protect as a matter of course.
My own very privilaged and sheltered children are at this moment duking it out with wooden dollhouse toys (as in "Peter hit me with the bathtub!") so probably I should think of something useful to occupy them for a while. It takes a few days to get into proper summer mode, wherein one can play outside without inflicting great bodily harm on one's sibling for periods up to and including an hour. 
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