Other than the simple fact that it dawned on me at 5:45 this morning, when I first woke up, that HOLY SNOT, BATMAN! I needed to make a lunch! A 5th grade lunch! And lunch supplies at Casa del Jedi were limited!, our first morning of school went very, very well.
I simply shoved a leftover pizza slice into the boy’s lunchbox, with some vanilla yogurt and a baggie full of grapes, and we called it good. It turned out so good, in fact, the boy announced later, “That is the kind of lunch I’d like to see in my lunchbox every single day.” As opposed to…what? The more traditional, stand-by ham sandwich?
The boy was up early this morning, and, regardless of the fact that he mumbled and griped about how summer was OVER! JUST OVER!, I think he was secretly excited to head back to school, even if it was only for socialization purposes.
Because, goodness knows! Our boy isn’t interested in enhancing his education with higher math or a structured reading program. He’s there for his friends. And his recesses. And his lunchbox with the leftover pizza slice in it.
While we walked down the hallway this morning to his 5th grade classroom (Don’t even get me started on having a 5th grader! You’ll lose me in a hurricane of tears!), we snapped pictures of the boy and his buddies.
And Carter, who posed with the boy in front of an empty green bulletin board. Just as I was focusing the camera, Carter shouted out, “I feel like I’m in front of a green screen for a movie! We should do a fight sequence! Some karate moves!”
Or maybe even just a friendly wave at the camera lens…
I left the boy in his 5th grade (THE! 5TH! GRADE!) classroom, and I walked out. I stopped on the sidewalk to visit with a couple of other mothers, and then I headed to my Suburban where I promptly burst into tears, as I realized that ALL of our first days of elementary school are officially over, and because I knew that I was going to blink and tomorrow Hubs and I would be packing up the Suburban with new sheets and a mini fridge, so that we could drive across the United States and leave the boy at Harvard.
Mama had herself some emotions today.
And when I reigned the emotions in, I realized that I had exactly SEVEN text messages on my phone, which all read along the lines of, “How are you doing, honey?” Apparently I may have let it slip out that 5th grade was about to do me in with all the sadness, and folks were checking in to see if the boy was being homeschooled this year.
And then there was the final text which didn’t have anything to do with my shaky state of emotions, because it was from Becki. She simply said, “Girlfriend, meet me at Starbucks right now!” So I quit blubbering, and Becki and I joined one thousand and nine other mamas for coffee this morning.
When I was fully composed…when I realized that I wasn’t the ONLY mother crying today…I set off to teach PE, because yes! Yes, I had to go back to school, too. Since Small Town has decided to pull it’s annual first-week-of-school heatwave, it was 95 degrees outside, and 408 degrees in my gym. By my third class of the afternoon, I was glistening with sweat in a most unladylike fashion. When the janitor brought me a fan that was roughly the size of a jet engine, I threw proprietary issues to the wind, and I held out my T-shirt so that the breeze would cool me down a bit.
I only had to push twelve children to the side to GET to the fan, too.
During kindergarten PE, I had one little fellow fall face first onto the gym floor. I helped his crying little self up, and he kept holding his forehead, bawling for his mama. I hugged him, and I told him he’d be fine, and I said, “You know, you get to go home in less than one hour! And I know you’re so, so, SO tired, but you’re doing such a great job in PE! And you’re fine!” He shook his head at me, while he still had his hand on his forehead, and he whispered that he MOST CERTAINLY WASN’T FINE! And then he said, “Please get my mom! I need her really bad!” So I squeezed him in a tight hug, and then I said, “How about I look at your little owie?” He pulled his hand away from his forehead, and SWEET HOLY SMOKE! He had a goose egg that was slightly smaller than a baseball! It was already BLACK! Black! As in, THE BRUISING WAS FULLY ENGAGED! And his right eye was already turning black, because HE WAS GOING TO HAVE A SHINER! I think I scared the poor boy even more, as I shouted, “OH! OHMYGOSH!!! WENEEDICE!!!! ICE!! WE! NEED! ICE!!!”
And then I really did call his mama to come and get him, because of BIGGEST GOOSE EGG TO DATE IN MY PE CLASSES!
I’m sure today will be forever engraved on his memory, as his very first day of school, when his PE teacher tried to kill him and then lied to him and said he was okay.
When PE wrapped up, I zipped across town to the boy’s school, where I collected him and Enzo, so that we could meet the rest of the Wolf Pack at a local coffee house downtown.
I’m glad one of us is going to enjoy it. The other one of us is still trying to come to terms with the fact that her baby is eleven years old now.
He’ll probably be fine.
Just like the little guy with the goose egg.