I look through the glass into Sarah's classroom. She has her back to me, but other children around her notice me. Their faces light up, and they drop their toys to run toward the door. Sarah, seeing the general movement, turns to see what has gotten them so excited. I push open the door and am nearly knocked over by the small bodies wanting to touch me. I hold out my arms and give a big, group hug. I wish my own students were even 1/10th as happy to see me as these.

Then my own little one works her way through the crowd, and puts her arms around my neck. Claiming me. She looks me in the eye and says, "Go home, Mommy?" Yes, we are going home. We get her coat from the cubby, say goodbye to all her friends, and we head out the door, her small hand in mine. She is triumphant.

Right now, I am her "best thing." Later, I will be replaced by a doll or a friend or a rock star, but right now, I get to be the rock star, even just for a little while.