First Days

Call me Mother of the Year.

Last week began Peanut's school experience. There was much rejoicing (his) and a few tears (mine). Peanut is learning the hello and goodbye songs (okay, they're pretty cute) and also learning that there is no way his teacher, Boomer, and I are willing to let him ride the school bus. More on that in a bit.

Peanut's first day began with him sprinting out of the car toward his teacher, tripping over a crack in the sidewalk, and falling flat on his hands and knees in excitement as I'm yelling at him to hold my hand. To her credit, his teacher made sure he was all right before chuckling and telling me "we're good! See you in a couple of hours!" She then took my son by the hand and walked him into school. I went home and pouted. For five minutes. Since when am I not needed to referee and explain my son? Oh, wait, yeah. She's a professional. And I really like her. And she really likes my kid. I'm good now.

Since then, it's gotten easier. Dropping Peanut off makes his day, the kids seem to get along with him, and we're working on the not-riding-the-bus-temper-tantrum. It would probably be easier if the kid would deign to sit still for longer than ten seconds, but we're working on that. Slowly.

In the meantime, there are magnifying glasses to use, blocks to build, and of course, trains and cars to play with. And not throw at me. Maybe school will be good for him after all. As for me, well, I could get used to the quiet. Eventually. But I'm glad when I can pick up my child. That's the way it should be. All independent until it's time to come home. For both of us.

Call me Mother of the Year.