School starts tomorrow.
I’m not in panic mode and I’m not even emotional–yet. Wait for it, though. In the morning, when I actually leave my actual baby at actual school for the entire actual day, I will actually cry. Like, a lot. It’s going to be a hang-out-on-the-beanbag-chair-in-the-kids’-room-sobbing kind of day for me, I have a feeling.
The thought of all 3 kids being in school was initially a thrilling concept for me: “Wow! 7 hours to myself? I could clean the house and take a nap and go for a run and shave my legs by the time they come home from school! And that’s just the first day! Caleb–let’s go eat breakfast somewhere! Let’s go hiking! Let’s go to the movies! Let’s go shopping! We can do whatever we want!”
“Oh, what’s that Caleb? You have a job? You have to work? To support our family? So we don’t go homeless? You can’t just take off whenever and goof around with me all day? How shocking and disappointing. Bummer.”
Life was good–or at least, it was going to be–until Meet-the-Teacher night, where my son walked into his classroom…and proceeded to blatantly ignore me.
Let me tell you something, Merrick! I birthed you! I changed your poopy diapers! I wipe your snotty nose. I pour your apple juice. I build kick ass block towers and I set up train tracks all over the living room.(And I let you play with them, too!) I tell you bedtime stories that would make Dr. Seuss himself be all like “Nice!” Yeah, sure, your new teacher is cool or whatever, and your new friends look like fun…
…but remember where you come from! Don’t forget about the coolest, most awesomest best person in the world!
No, son, I’m not talking about Lightning McQueen.
I won’t even talk about the aggressive negotiations Mia and I have gotten into regarding her outfit choices for the first several days of school. 3rd grade brings on a whole new sense of independence, and also? A whole new definition of “matching”, or as I like to call it, “wearing the most random things you can find and throwing them together even though you haven’t worn them for a year and they in no way go together by color or style.”
Cheyenne’s junior year in high school promises to be excellent. Challenging, but excellent. She’s got a schedule full of the hard stuff but her friends are with her so at least there’s an element of fun involved. Marching band has already started keeping her busy. I’m seriously kicking myself for putting off getting her driver’s license, because I’d love it if she could drive herself to all her million-and-one activities.
But we’ve seen the light and are trying to get out there and teach this 16-year-old the rules of the road. She’s a promising student; putting her behind the wheel of a car has not been as scary as I thought. Hopefully she’ll be a capable enough driver by mid-school year to get herself around without a chauffeur.
All things considered, it’s going to be a big year, full of really big changes, for our family; some I’m ready for (can’t we just snap our fingers and give Cheyenne a license and a car?), some I’m getting ready for (letting Mia pick out her own clothes), and some I will never ever be ready for (no matter how nonchalantly Merrick walks into his Pre-K room like he owns the place). I know I’m not alone in this boat, though that doesn’t necessarily make it any easier.
Mothers of Growing Children of the World: Join me now, as I bawl my eyes out and contemplate the possibility of just constantly having babies so that I can always be needed desperately and adored unconditionally! This crap is happening way too fast for me.