My meeting with his teacher was at 4:15. I was so nervous; I got into some nice jeans (read: clean), put on a sweater and some sassy black boots. I showered, too.

I'm fifteen minutes early so I take a look around. The school is so sweetly small. And that's because it is for miniature people. I stop in the library. It's the cutest library you've ever seen.

I look at the artwork on the walls. I find Mr. Pants' pumpkin hanging among the patch. I get a bit weepy about it.

So I head to the ladies room to freshen up. And I am too tall for it. It's all too adorable.

Making my way back to begin our conference, I am eager to talk about my kid. There is a question nagging at me but I'm afraid to ask it. I received his progress report last week. It basically said he is smart as a whip. It also said he is quiet. Now a lot of people have quiet kids. It's a very natural and normal way to be. There is nothing wrong with it. But my kid is not quiet.  Not by anyone's definition of the word. I read that part over and over. "He keeps to himself". "He's observant and quiet". "Always well behaved". And I panicked. That's not my kid.  My kid is loud and insane. Laughs in guffaws and yell talks. He is demanding and assertive to a fault. But it seems he doesn't rule the pre-school kingdom yet. And a part of me is freaking out while the other half is saying be calm. He's adjusting still. That's when the question came to me. And it never left.

His teacher Mrs. K has a bubbly personality. I like her. She tells me all about the routine of the class. She explained the surprise piece of candy in his back pack the other day. She told me that Mr. Pants is becoming more and more comfortable in class. Not talking very much, but still. He is doing well. She tells me that she doesn't push him to interact with other kids because she thinks that will send him backwards. I agree. She goes on and on and I begin to tune it all out. Because that question is trying to jump out of my mouth and I don't know if I want the answer yet.

She finishes talking. She seems to genuinely like my kid and that makes me happy. She asks if I have any questions. I pause. "Do, um.." I begin trying to think of something else to ask but I have nothing. I start to fumble for my words to stall but they come anyway. "Do they, um, the other kids..." Gulp. I'm trying not to tear up. "Do they like him? Are they nice to him?" and a tear broke through but I kept it in the eye. I felt stupid. I'm such an emotional blob sometimes and I didn't want to do this here. I look down and shuffle the papers in front of me as a diversion. She smiles and says, "I know why that worries you. Yes, they do. He keeps to himself but there is a little girl named K that always eats lunch with him. She's older and she kind of took to him early on and helps him to transition. It's very sweet. And W loves to run with him on the playground. They run laps the whole time. It's so funny. They just laugh and laugh." I thank her and get up to leave.

When I get to my car, I let the tears come. Relief. I head home to my kid who has two friends. Two whole friends. And I cry happy tears about it all the way home.