Back to school. I’ll probably eat my weight in comfort food today.
About a month ago I made my 3000 lists that would supposedly allow for the smoothest possible transition back to the hell that starts with prodding 3 children out of bed before daylight. I would love to say that this is some sort of enlightenment now that I’m a working mom, but I was already that neurotic before.
With everything prepped, (and an unprecedented five lunch boxes on the counter!) there was nothing that could stand in our way of a successful first day of school. Except, of course, Tourette’s.
Just as I cozied up to my beer and sat down to a KET special, I heard the tale-tell sounds of my son’s increasing anxiety. His tics were so bad he could not possibly fall asleep, despite the fact that he desperately wanted to do just that. A long time, and several back rubs later, the poor little guy was finally asleep, but my relaxed, prepared feeling was gone as well. I felt my own anxiety about the first day rising.
Three kids, two schools (with the same start time), and one me. That’s how it went down. I love everything about being married to a teacher, except the first day of school. After a mini-freak out over whether or not TP’s tics would disrupt his classmates, and a small debate over whether a “peanut-free” classroom means no PBJ in the lunchroom, we were all smiling and ready to go ahead of schedule.
We took the little ones to school first, and I did the obligatory walk your kindergartener to her classroom bit. I feel a little bad saying this, but everything that was a big deal with the first one, is just not all that interesting with the third. There was no hovering at the door or crying at the “boo-hoo” breakfast provided by the PTA. Nope. I dropped her like a hot potato and was gone before she could figure out when we changed her name to “Catherine.” (The good news is, she has the most amazing teacher and before it was even noon I had an email telling me that Cate was having a great day. Now that’s the kind of thing a Mother loves!)
Then it was on to the dreaded leaving of the first-born child. For some reason I can not explain, no matter how old the first child gets, I still find myself having an anxiety attack whenever he has to do anything new. I can just see the paramedics trying to revive me on the lawn outside his college dorm. All I can say is this: the kid never ceases to surprise me. By the time we got to his new classroom, he had his tics somewhat under control and he strode on past me into the room without looking back. Um, hello. I’m a mess here!
On my way out of his school I saw the sign for the Kindergarten boo-hoo breakfast and thought about stopping. Seriously, they should just call it, “Abandoning Your Precious First Born” breakfast instead. It’s amazing what donuts can do for anxiety.