It’s called tempting fate. Opening my big fat mouth (or laptop) and waxing eloquent about how FABULOUS something is going to be (The Most Wonderful Time of the Year).
Maybe it’s a case of unrealistic expectations. Maybe it’s God keeping me humble, “Oh so now you think you’ve got it all figured out and don’t need me anymore?” …smite. Maybe it’s just life. Which is rarely as perfect as my daydreams.
As I prepared to embrace my first blissful full day of school, I made a crucial error. I set myself up for disappointment. I didn’t allow for that all-important adjustment period. You know, the weeks where I have to re-train the entire household to get off their butts and get their act together.
“What do you mean I have to take a drink to school? I’ve never taken a drink before.” Only every single day, always.
“My lips are really dry. I thought it was chapstick.” Bright red lipstick actually. Are we seriously dealing with this already, in Grade 5? I let her put blue streaks in her hair last week. Is this the slippery slope those pastors have been warning me about all these years?
“Everyone mismatches their socks Mom. It’s better that way.” I didn’t realize I was so out of touch. Thank you for informing me so graciously.
“Honey, your shoes are on the wrong feet, again.” Sheesh. Calm down. I love you just the way you are. You still look VERY pretty. Just leave them that way. We’re already running late.
2 head injuries, 3 wardrobe debates, 362 fishy crackers bagged, 1 leaking water bottle replaced, 4 minor sibling skirmishes and 5 really grumpy people piling into the van.
Let the bliss begin. Except little brother isn’t feeling it. At all. He keeps looking for his favourite entertainers/helpers/victims. What’s a boy to do with only boring old mom? Sure, we enjoyed more cuddles and book reading than usual. We played at the park and walked around the zoo and tried desperately to distract him from the fact that he really, really misses HIS normal.
So, I anticipated pick-up time. I counted down. I thought THIS would fix our day.
But B was at the end of her rope. She’s not used to such a long day away anymore. While she was enjoying her New Class, she isn’t quite as happy with her perfectly good New Teacher. She wants “Smelling!” (her grade 2 teacher). She wants a snack. She wants her blankie. She wants to watch a show. She wants to do anything but sit quietly while I make that all important First Contact with New Teacher. Who seems great, so that’s something.
Meanwhile, the boy is happily mauling his sisters. I think this means: “Hello. I missed you. Don’t ever leave me again.” But it feels a lot more like grabby, grabby hands, head butting and the occasional bite (ouch).
They are patient. But they are tired, too. And have a million things to tell me. Which I’m DYING to hear. Except there is only one of me. And the littles are melting down. And the garbagemen made a mess on our curb. And snack is REQUIRED IMMEDIATELY. And I wonder WHY I was looking forward to this…
We spend the evening corralling the boy, calming the weeping B, wiping up blood (when she picked open a bug bite on her face, and once again as she scraped her entire face on the side of the trampoline), encouraging our neighbour-friend who had a day of miserable-girl-drama for HER first day, assuring C that strict does not mean unkind (while secretly being pleased that she’ll be whipped into shape this year), discussing grade 7 grad plans with L (because it’s never to early to rub those fun plans in your sister’s face), and finally, shopping for some last-minute school supplies.
I was sure we had it all sorted out last week, but that’s just crazy-people thinking. There’s always something missing. I was so tired I went to the expensive dollar store. That’s right, there’s a MORE expensive one. A crazy splurge for me, but it is slightly closer and takes credit card. But even with two stops, I didn’t find everything. So we scrounged and rummaged and wondered where on earth all the stuff from last year went. I suspect the same place that our Wii remote, iPhone charging cord and DS player went (B likes to
hide things put things away for me).
C will have to make do with my dictionary until I can find the “right” edition, which I’m pretty sure we’ve bought several times over at this point. I may have donated this last one to charity. Oops.
I try not to take it personally when she laughs and laughs at it being called the “New” Websters Expanded Dictionary. “It was made in, like, the 1900s Mom!”
AND I stubbed my toe.
So here’s me, and tomorrow I’m spending the day at Children’s Hospital with the boy. I’m pretty sure that’ll give me a boatload of perspective when it comes to all these petty irritations.