Hahpth kjost skeekt dommorab. Pallabub diskeet habaloose.
Can. Not. String. Two. Words. Together.
First week of school. I hate my alarm clock.
Each morning is significantly worse than the one before. At this rate, I should be comatose by 6:30 a.m. on Friday. And it all started out so nicely.
On Sunday night, I was heretically rewriting the words to a popular worship chorus.
Oh! Happy day! Happy day! Teachers take my kids away!
I was so excited about the first day of school. It was a long summer.
On Monday morning, I actually woke up before my alarm clock went off, despite the fact that I had closed my eyes to sleep only 6 ½ hours before. The energy in our home that morning was palpable. Nathan was still asleep, but Michael, the two big kids, and I were buzzing around, excitedly eating breakfast, preparing lunches, collecting backpacks, reading devotionals, praying prayers, taking pictures. We were pumped.
Meghan started at the intermediate school this year, which means she and five of her neighborhood peeps get to ride the bus for the first time. Pretty exciting stuff. I kissed her good-bye just before 7:00 a.m. (then chased her down the street with my camera), so thrilled for this new adventure she was undertaking. Griffin and I went back inside and continued the preparations before getting in the car around 7:40. Nathan was still asleep, so I picked him up out of his bed and took him directly to the car. Griffin decided he was big enough to walk to his classroom by himself, so we dodged the swarm of parents in the crosswalk and I dropped him off in front of his school.
And then there was one.
My friend, Kimi, was pretty teary on Sunday because her youngest baby was starting kindergarten. I can understand her distress. The first day of kindergarten wasn’t that upsetting for me for the first two, but I can foresee lots of tears next year when my baby boy enters his kindergarten class. There’s just something about that last-born. You just want to hold on a little bit longer.
So Nathan and I get home from taking Griffin to school – he was still a little sleepy, so we sat on the couch together and snuggled while I rubbed his back, stroked his soft blonde hair, and thought about this day next year and how I want to enjoy every second with him.
I enjoyed about 2.7 minutes. Then began All The Talking.
“Mom, how many moh days ‘til my buhthday?”
“Mom, what’s the biggest state in the wohld?”
“Mom, when I was a baby, I missed being in yuh wahm and cozy tummy.”
“Mom, what time is it?” (It’s 8:53.) “OH! Now it’s eight fifty-foh!” (You can SEE THE CLOCK? Then quit asking me!)
“Mama, how many more days ‘til I get the staples out of my head?” (That was two years ago, Nathan.) “Who took out my staples?” (Miss Gracie.) “How many moh days ‘til Miss Gwacie’s buhthday?”
I promise you, this was an actual conversation. The first of many. Many, many, many. Oh so many.
I realize that someday my kids will not want to talk to me at all, but sweet mercy, my head is about to explode.
And before I knew it, it was almost 3:00 and time to pick up Griffin. Normally he rides his bike to and from school, but for unimportant reasons not of my own choosing, I took him on the first day. And picked him up. In the insanely chaotic and unbelievably long car line. That wrapped around the block. What would normally take five minutes from my back door to the school and home again actually took close to half an hour.
And here’s my true confession to clear my guilty conscience: after waiting for 25 minutes, I cheated and snuck up to the front, past all of those poor, hot, waiting mamas like myself. I actually thought I was following directions, but by the time I reached the front of the school, I had a Mr. Mom moment and realized “YOU’RE DOING IT WRONG!”
I’m so thankful that I won’t be back in that car line until the first rainy day when Griffin can’t ride his bike. Those suburban moms can be a little scary, y’know. I’ll need to keep a low profile for a while after so brazenly cutting in line.
Anyway. All in all, a good day. We celebrated that evening with Nathan’s Meet-The-Teacher night at his preschool and the traditional first day of school ice cream stop at Woolley’s. I kept expecting to hit a wall from exhaustion sometime during the day, but I kept going and going until bedtime that evening. Adrenaline, I suspect. It was a pretty exciting day.
(In this picture, Nathan was really excited, and he had serious need of a potty.)
Tuesday morning – not quite as exciting. Wednesday morning – physically impossible to remove myself from the bed.
Tomorrow morning should bring a little more relief. Nathan starts preschool with Ms. Natalie, our favorite preschool teacher of all time. She is the ultimate bomb. When we took Nathan to meet her on Monday night, I informed her that we would be holding a prayer vigil for her (no, seriously) and that Nathan…has a lot to say. So good luck with that.
We love Ms. Natalie.
Michael and I realize that each one of our kids’ teachers has been specifically selected by God to teach them for the next nine months, and each one has the privilege and responsibility of shaping them into the young men and woman that God has called them to be – so we pray for these teachers. Hard.
Especially Ms. Natalie. She’s gonna need it.
It will be a great year. A great, quiet year.
In the timeless words of Depeche Mode, I will Enjoy The Silence.
And avoid the car line as much as humanly possible.