Claire rocked her first day at preschool. Rowan and Ada saw her coming and swarmed over her as soon as she got in the door; she could hardly be bothered to look up from her toys to say goodbye to us.

When I went to pick her up I thought for one horrible moment that she’d fallen on asphalt and grazed her little face, but the kids had just been painting each others’ faces with blood- and bruise-coloured paint. How nice. She left willingly enough, but she was teary-eyed as I lifted her out of the car.

R: Are you sad because you’re not at school any more?

Claire nodded mournfully.

R (after a moment): Freak.

She was in a glorious mood all evening, telling stories and cuddling everything that moved: a stark contrast to recent horrors. Jeremy’s theory is that she just hadn’t been getting enough exercise over the rainy break. $DEITY bless our preschool and its lovely teachers and magical toys and ridiculously reasonable fees.

Still, it feels deeply weird to have a kid that actually likes school. Where did she come from, and why does she have my nose?

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