We last left our heroine lamenting her booblessness and vowing to harm the shins of unsuspecting, well endowed upon the chest women. Both of Z’s teachers are fully equipped with what appear to be comfy chest pillows. I wouldn’t know, because some people seem to frown upon having their breasts snuggled by grown women. These women kill me with their holier than thouness.
His teacher and assistant teacher were nice enough to answer all of my questions and give a bit of a glimpse into how the classroom is run. The boy barely acknowledged them as he made a beeline to the library’s computer. When asked what he likes to do, all we could do was look to the left. If there is a computer in the classroom, OH PWAAHAHAHAHA! I FEEL FOR YOU-OO (please sing it like Chaka; it’s the only way it works).
I have to admit I was immediately put at ease by them. I think my sadness in the previous post was more anticipation than reality. I would be fine the following day, his first day. I would be fine.
I was not fine.
He was a bit clingy. I tried to stay upbeat, happy. But I think he sensed the smallest amount of apprehension on my part and flung it back into my face with “I want to go HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOME!” I left my crying baby in a classroom of semi-strangers, surrounded by non-crying little robots who were probably wondering what the hell his deal was. I left my husband to walk him to the circle and then I made my exit. I know I probably shouldn’t have simply disappeared because he looked up and I was just gone, but had I stuck around I would have never left. Believe me. Instead, I stood outside the door and listened to him cry. My husband came out and looked at me like “What? He’ll be fine in a few minutes.” It was all I could do not to perform an Oscar-worthy wall slide to the floor.
I walked slowly behind him (very slowly because he was in the car, seatbelt on, and I was still five cars away). I went to work where I would wring my hands and wonder about my preshus for the next several hours. I did not, however, call my husband after having estimated how long it would take him to get both kids out of the school and secure them in the car. I waited. I forced myself to get the first day report after we were all home. And wouldn’t you know it? The boy cried for all of 20 minutes and the rest of the day was a breeze. Lunch was great. Nap was wonderful. Recess was splendid. He did not cry again until it was time to leave. Yes!
“Oh, he was sad to leave? He did have a good day!”
“Not exactly. He was the only one without a backpack and when he realized he had no bag he flipped out.”
WOMP WOMP WOMP. Fuck this guide-bookless life! Mother of the year right here, y’all. RIGHT DAMN HERE.
* * * * * * * * * *
Fast forward through the weekend filled of talking about school, ironing uniforms, talking about school, securing one tiny backpack (“I need my bag! My bag on my shoulders! Let’s get my bag!”), and talking about school. He was as prepared for his return today as we could get him. Again, he cried. I’m glad I wasn’t there. It hurts to hear my husband say he cried, but it hurts more to actually hear his wails. Hopefully today was like Thursday and the tears didn’t last long. Hopefully this period of morning sadness won’t last long. I know it’s only his second day but it would go so much better for ME if he were happier about it all.
So there. I survived, he’s surviving. Gloria Gaynor would be proud.
This is him excited about balls. Such a boy.
Eventually, he’s going to not want to leave every time he’s picked up. It bothers me to drop my boys off, but since I’m [back] at home, it doesn’t bother me as much because the school is only 2x a week. When I went to work at a really crazy-2-employee (yes, only 2)-Republican-crazed place, I felt soooooo bad. My youngest would almost start crying and my oldest would straight up mug me as I walked away, refusing to wave or say goodbye to me. Kudos to you full-time working moms.
Oh and I have no problem with political parties, just anyone too crazy on each side…during election year. NIne hours of that is not good for the heart or soul.
The girls never did this (but I do remember being able to frequently use back up daycare so they’d be at work with me sometimes and I’d go down and peek through the glass). The only time the middle girl did it, she also taught me I’m a sucker. She cried and cried in the most dramatic I’m not going to make it without you way. The minute I closed the door, peeked back in, that girl wiped her face with a whew, glad that’s over, and picked up the crayons. The next day when she started it, I handed her the crayons, gave her the I know what you did last summer face, walked out, and it never happened again. This boy, though? THIS BOY!
Oh, that’s so hard. Ugh! They totally do it for us….they want us to feel bad. Then once they are sure we are heartbroken, they move on and enjoy the rest of their day while we feel guilty for leaving them…alone…without us. Sigh. A week. He’ll be good in a week.
Three days, Stef. Three days and the crying stopped. The only times he gets a little disagreeable now are if he’s just being three. I am glad though, because he genuinely looks forward to going and that’s really all I wanted.
Oh Arnebya!! ROTFLMAO!!! Love ya, man! :-) Also, please don’t kick me cuz of my big comfy chest pillows. :-)
As long as you don’t kick me back when I hug you just a little too long.
LOVE. Yes, it’s hard to hear their cries, but oh, they really do so well once Mom and Dad leave.
Sometimes those of us with comfy chest pillows want to kick those of you who can comfortably walk braless down a flight of stairs. So, I guess it all works out.
Ha. I have to admit that yes, I can run the stairs (and I’ve heard many women utter wench (in jest, usually) as I do it). I still want more.
The twins are over me. But my big guy still insists on me walking right up to the door. I can’t imagine I will be anything more than a puddle when the baby finally goes.
Eh. You’ve got time until she goes anywhere, though (as though this will make ANY difference whatsoever!).
i don’t even remember where i found your blog. But i think i love it…
i meant to tell you, i’m victoria, from newport news, virginia.
I can totally picture you in some super cute outfit and sexy heels doing the dramatic slide down the wall! It would be Oscar worthy!!
I love that he got into the groove of the first day and was mad that he didn’t have his own backpack. It means that he is ready and the crying will be over before your heart is actually ready for it to be.
Oh my, that picture of him is so cute! I kind of wish that our kids went to the same school so that we could do the dramatic wall-slide together in the mornings. Instead, I hover outside by the playground and spy on Max through the bushes. I scream things at his teachers (in my head) like “Go GET him!! He’s about to fall off the slide!”. Your wall slide and dramatic walk back to the car sound much more glamourous :)
“So there. I survived, he’s surviving. Gloria Gaynor would be proud.”
That’s all that counts.
*highfive*
I am finally there, glad he’s happy and glad he’s looking forward to going each day. It was a bumpy three days (I’m glad it was only three!) but we are finally there.