It's been forever. All of the excuses or just move on?
Let's just move on.
The point is that you love to hear when I'm struggling, and trust me. . .I'm struggling.
It's the week before Cole's first day at Kindergarten. Just saying "kindergarten" made me throw up in my mouth a little. Not because it's kindergarten and that's so cute and he's getting so big and before you know it we'll be dancing to "You Are The Sunshine Of My Life". . .
. . .although I hope we don't dance to "You Are The Sunshine Of My Life" because that's what me and my dad danced to and it was super cheesy back then and I have to believe my son will have better taste than that. . .
. . . but I'm struggling because I don't know kindergarten.
You know what I mean, right? Like know it? Know where you put your boots? Your lunchbox? To know which are the nice parents and the strange parents and the parents that will never invite you to their kid's birthday party but that's okay because who really wants to go to that Jump All Day While Screaming Place And Chase After Your Kid with Hand Sanitizer Because We've Been Healthy for 7 Whole Days, place anyway?
I don't know it.
I've complicated the know, too. We've decided to send him to private school. The kind with uniforms. And traditions. And things that everyone else seems to know that I don't.
The kind of school that has a special way you're supposed to drop off, and pick up. The kind of place where you have to know about the 9 and 3/4 platform already. Think Mr. Mom.
And socks.
They have special rules about socks. I'm not even sure if it's a color or size rule. I'm starting to sweat just thinking about it. They have rules about shorts. About hair. About crayons.
About CRAYONS, people.
See? I know daycare. I know that devil. I know that kids show up smelly and sticky and stinky and that's okay. Parents rush in and rush out and drop off diapers and blow kisses from car windows. I know that place. I'm comfortable in that place.
I don't sweat like a pig in that place.
In this new place? I have to ask friends to come with me to the used uniform sale because I'm so nervous. I read and re-read the parent handbook. . .from last year because I don't even have this year's edition yet.
I hope they don't make too many edits. I almost have 2011 - 2012 memorized.
This new place has big door and echo-ey halls and scary old ladies at the front desk. Okay, that's not true. That was just for dramatics. They're old. But adorable. Stinking adorable. But they don't take no lip. That's for sure.
Especially not from some newbie.
I've been enjoying this "Orange is the New Black" show lately. It's on Netflix. Watch it. This really sweet and innocent thirty-something ends up in prison. Trying not to get hurt. Trying to navigate the system. Learn the code. Stay alive inside.
This feels kind of like that.
What if his shorts are too grey? Too long? Too short? What if he doesn't write as well as the other kids? Speaks as well? Eats as well? Sits quietly in a chair as well?
At the used uniform sale, the headmaster greeted me by name on my way in. "Hello, Erika. So nice to see you today."
I don't know how to pronounce her last name and I'm too embarrassed to ask: "Oh, hi. . .you. Good to see you."
(*facepalm* idiot. total idiot. hi...you?!? brilliant, Erika. seriously brilliant.)
Then? Almost immediately after I run into a woman that I knew from high school. . .
"Hey Erika. Great to see you! Do you have kids that go here?"
I can't remember her name and I'm too embarrassed to ask: "Oh, hi . . .you. Yeah, a little tiny boy."
(a little tiny boy?!? what kind of answer is that? like he's so small he fits in your pocket? so little and tiny that he lives in a fairy house in the backyard under a tree? and on top of this you couldn't spare his name? would it have killed you to ask for hers? could have been your only chance for a kindergarten friend and you blew it.)
He needs to wear a tie. I got him one today. It's 18 inches long.
Do you realize how long that is on a 5 year old? I got Cole a 6th grader-sized tie.
It's like I'm intentionally trying to make him the misfit. The kid who's mom blindly grabbed whatever she could at the used uniform sale. Clawed wildly with eyes closed. Stuffed it into a bag. Paid whatever they told her it would be without question, and ran like hell.
That actually sounds pretty accurate.
I feel so silly. I'm a confident person in other areas of my life. I handle myself well, professionally. Personally, I have good, close friends. A healthy marriage. Good kids. When I get into a pickle, I can usually squeeze back out. Rely on my wit. My sense of humor. I'm generally a pretty smart gal. But when I get within a quarter mile of this school, I turn to jelly.
I just don't know it. And it's terrifying.
I try to relate it to something I've felt as a parent before. I can recall nothing similar.
One time I went to a funeral in jeans. In my defense, I didn't realize I was going to a funeral when I got dressed that morning. Joke was on me. The thought of kindergarten feels kind of like that. Like everyone knows I don't know what I'm doing. And it's so obvious that I can't hide it...like a gigantic pair of jeans at a funeral.
But am I supposed to? Isn't every. stinking. milestone. that happens with these kids the first time I do it at all? Why is this any different? I didn't sit here and try to reason my reaction the first time a kid pooped all the way to his neck. The first time they called someone "fluffy middle" or "smooth head" in the grocery line. The first time I took them to church. The first time we went to the mall by ourselves. The first time we left the house in underwear.
These are all reasons to sweat, my friends. To exhibit a visceral reaction to the situation. And I was fine.
Kindergarten, though. . .has me shaking. And I figure, if there's one group of people who would be sympathetic to my needs at this moment, it would be you. To give me advice. Support. Kind words of encouragement. Or to tell me to shut up and take pictures.
Gosh. . .I hope Cole handles this kindergarten thing better than I am. ;-)
