I am tucking Swee’Pea into bed and we begin to talk about school. She must have been thinking about this because all of a sudden she launches into a conversation that must have begun in her head. “But Daddy,” Swee’Pea begins, “I am going to miss Fabian when he goes to first grade.” Since I can see the flaw in her logic, I point out that she too will be going to first grade along with this little punk boy.

“Nuh-uh! Fabian already knows all his kindergarten words and all of his first grade words and I don’t know all of my kindergarten words yet!” She says this with all of the certainty that only a five-year-old can muster. In her mind, she is certain she will remain in kindergarten for possibly the rest of her life.

As her mother and I assure her that she is plenty smart (her first parent-teacher conference showed that she’s already one of the best in her class - at least that’s how I heard it) and that whatever words she doesn’t know she’ll learn before the end of the school year.

Swee’Pea, as we kissed her goodnight and shut the door, remained unconvinced, I’m sure. But I’m sure she’ll forget all about this in a short while. Now if only she’d forget about this Fabian kid…