Yesterday began with a bang (the rear bumper of my brand-new car against the trailer hitch of a truck parked behind it) and a whimper (my poor husband appearing in my office door in the worst pain I’ve ever seen) and while everything ended okay (minimal damage; kidney stones) I was pretty much a wreck by the time I stumbled into Sophie’s classroom at 5:30 to take my place at her seat for Curriculum Night.

So I suppose it’s not a surprise that I cried. Not the kind of crying that anyone could see (though I do think a small noise escaped at one point) but still, I got a little weepy.

I don’t typically cry at Curriculum Night. Now, I am a person who has cried at every single curtain call for every live performance I’ve ever seen (and that includes the ones my children are not in; it started long before I even had them) and yeah, I tend to cry at kid-related events: the First Day of School, the Last Day of School, Meet the Teacher Night, every parent/teacher conference. (“What? You like my kid?” Blubber, blubber blubber….)

But not Curriculum Night. Frankly, it tends to be a little boring. I usually spend much of it eyeing the other parents, and there was a good share of that last night, but mostly I stared at Miss Y.

I’ve known this woman for a full year and had many conversations with her, both one on one and in groups, but last night was different. She was clearly a little nervous, standing up before a group of grown ups, so that might have had something to do with it. It also might have been — and I’m not exaggerating here — that every word that came out of this woman’s mouth was perfect.

I looked around the room at the other moms and dads and wanted to say, “Can you freaking believe our luck?!” Miss Y believes in using music in teaching. She teaches the kids yoga poses and rings chimes to peacefully get their attention. She is huge into reading and writing and said all the right things about math. She’s teaching our kids to honor one another and to spell. It sounds a little corny as I type it, but believe me, not when delivered by Miss Y.

But there was something else, too, and I finally realized it about halfway through the hour-long presentation. Miss Y is my friend Heather.

Have you ever had that happen? I don’t mean someone looks like someone else. I mean, they sort of are someone else. Most recently, this has been  happening to me in little flashes with one of my most treasured colleagues, our food critic Michele — and one of my oldest and dearest friends, Monica. You might not be able to tell by looking at the two of them, but there’s something about the way both women speak, something about their attitude, their essence (I know I can’t be making sense — for one thing, it’s not even 5 am) that is the same. Same for a relatively new friend, Mrs. M., and an old one, Susan, whom I haven’t seen in years — she lives in Dallas. There’s something about both the set of their jaws and the empathy they show the world; in a weird little way that maybe only I can see, they are the same person.

With Miss Y and Heather it’s even more pronounced.

Funny, I don’t think I’d ever written about Heather in GIAPH before last week, in a post about the American Girl store. But here she is again — and standing at the front of my kid’s class! I think it’s because I’d never seen Miss Y with her hair down. Heather’s is curly and Miss Y wears hers straight, but there’s something about the way it grows out of both of their heads that is the same. They both stand in first position, leaning forward a bit. Same body type. Same fingers. And the best part — same spirit.

I don’t believe in meeting people from past lives, none of that spirit stuff, but I can’t think of a better word. There’s something about each of these women’s spirits that is so similar. I can’t tell you how good that is. I think it must be why I was instantly at ease in Miss Y’s presence the first time I met her. And it must be why I snuffled through her presentation last night.

Annabelle’s teacher is equally fantastic. (She deserves her own blog post, which is coming.) I left the school pinching myself.

I ran to Safeway for milk then home to relieve the always-fabulous Courtney, who had managed to convince Annabelle to do her homework and had both girls bathed. Ray was passed out on Percocet and I hadn’t gotten a lick of work done all day.

And the dog had chewed one of Sophie’s orthotics.

But we all ended the day in one piece (even the car) and I’ll drop the girls at school today feeling even better than I did yesterday about where they’ll be this year.