Call me Mother of the Year.
I let him go today.
Peanut's Adventures in Kindergarten actually began on Thursday. As he came pounding into my room for his thief-Daddy's-side-of-the-bed experience, I told him that the next day would be Kindergarten Day. Peanut's response: "Oh, Mommy. I don't want to go to Kindergarten." After listening to my son's fears, I realized that he's afraid of the unknown. I'm in the middle of reassuring him when Kindergarten Teacher called. As I was explaining Peanut's worries, she invited him (and me) to her classroom. It was a wonderful idea and a great time was had.
Friday morning was the First Day (or in our case, first hour) of School. The classroom was investigated and a story was read. Peanut showed off his brilliance by correctly defining "nocturnal" and I successfully (mentally) slapped my own hand for nearly telling him to be quiet. It's his show now, Mom. Let him go.
I let him go today.
Today was the first full day of Kindergarten. His lunch was packed, breakfast eaten, and we were out the door in plenty of time. Boomer took today off and had Tula while I held my son's small hand and walked toward the playground. Peanut promptly shook off my hand and ran in search of really cool climbing equipment and friends yet to be made. Boomer suggested we leave before we turned into "creepy clingy parents". I turned to go with him and Tula, and then it hit me: he never said goodbye.
I let him go today. And that hurt.
Of course, I was there as soon as school let out today. And of course, I was greeted with a shriek of "MOMMY!!! I'm so glad to see you!" He had a good day, and I've been regaled with stories of tag, lunch bells, and P.E.
I let him go today. We both survived.
Call me Mother of the Year.
Monday, August 23, 2010
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
Mommies Say The Weirdest Things
Call me Mother of the Year.
I've realized the most bizarre things have left my mouth over the last five years of motherhood. These are, in no particular order, some of the things I've said to my kids over the last month. Yes, there are stories attached to all, and I may even relate those later. Special bonus to those who guess which kid got which saying!
"We do not fling the cat!"
"I don't care how cute you are, the dog is not to be used as target practice."
"Sure, bacon's a good secret ingredient to trail mix." (Don't ask. Seriously.)
"Fingers are not food. Neither are feet."
"We do not take toys that aren't ours."
"Get the shoelace out of your mouth. Get the dog's tail out of your mouth."
"When taking a shower, it helps to get under the water."
"Dog food is not your food."
"I'll tell you when it's Kindergarten Day!"
"The changing table is not a jungle gym."
Call me Mother of the Year.
I've realized the most bizarre things have left my mouth over the last five years of motherhood. These are, in no particular order, some of the things I've said to my kids over the last month. Yes, there are stories attached to all, and I may even relate those later. Special bonus to those who guess which kid got which saying!
"We do not fling the cat!"
"I don't care how cute you are, the dog is not to be used as target practice."
"Sure, bacon's a good secret ingredient to trail mix." (Don't ask. Seriously.)
"Fingers are not food. Neither are feet."
"We do not take toys that aren't ours."
"Get the shoelace out of your mouth. Get the dog's tail out of your mouth."
"When taking a shower, it helps to get under the water."
"Dog food is not your food."
"I'll tell you when it's Kindergarten Day!"
"The changing table is not a jungle gym."
Call me Mother of the Year.
Monday, August 2, 2010
The Countdown Is On
Call me Mother of the Year.
So the doctor's appointments have been completed, the school supplies procured and hidden from certain eyes and hands, and the calendar with days to be marked off is at the ready. Bring it on, Kindergarten.
Peanut is deeply impressed with himself. It's not every Kindergartner, after all, who gets to choose his own backpack AND lunchbox (I'll let you guess which he's more interested in). The questions are coming fast and furious. I'm finding myself repeating the answers several times a day. Thus the calendar (thanks, Beloved Teacher!).
"Will I ride the bus again?" No. Last year Peanut was quite happy hanging out on the bus full of his classmates. This year I'm breathing a sigh of relief that Peanut vs. Third Graders isn't happening.
"Will I have to get a vaccination?" Yes, Peanut used that word correctly. My kid is brilliant. And PBS Kids did a wonderful job of trying not to freak Peanut out. It almost worked, but the game winner was that his shots are up to date and therefore more shots were unnecessary. Much rejoicing.
"Why isn't today Kindergarten day?" Because it isn't. Thus the calendar. And the marker. And the Kleenex for me as I realize I'm totally gonna lose it his first full day. And the jab in Boomer's ribs for laughing at me.
And now, not-so-small-one, it's time to cross off another day. Eighteen days to go. Bring it on.
Call me Mother of the Year.
So the doctor's appointments have been completed, the school supplies procured and hidden from certain eyes and hands, and the calendar with days to be marked off is at the ready. Bring it on, Kindergarten.
Peanut is deeply impressed with himself. It's not every Kindergartner, after all, who gets to choose his own backpack AND lunchbox (I'll let you guess which he's more interested in). The questions are coming fast and furious. I'm finding myself repeating the answers several times a day. Thus the calendar (thanks, Beloved Teacher!).
"Will I ride the bus again?" No. Last year Peanut was quite happy hanging out on the bus full of his classmates. This year I'm breathing a sigh of relief that Peanut vs. Third Graders isn't happening.
"Will I have to get a vaccination?" Yes, Peanut used that word correctly. My kid is brilliant. And PBS Kids did a wonderful job of trying not to freak Peanut out. It almost worked, but the game winner was that his shots are up to date and therefore more shots were unnecessary. Much rejoicing.
"Why isn't today Kindergarten day?" Because it isn't. Thus the calendar. And the marker. And the Kleenex for me as I realize I'm totally gonna lose it his first full day. And the jab in Boomer's ribs for laughing at me.
And now, not-so-small-one, it's time to cross off another day. Eighteen days to go. Bring it on.
Call me Mother of the Year.
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