kindergarden roundup

Today I registered this little guy for kindergarden.
Ok. So maybe that picture is a little bit old.
But so stinkin cute.
(and yes my boy used to wear a helmet and he made it look good!)
So this is a slightly more recent picture.
But I'm not really sure how we suddenly got from there to here.

And I did feel a bit...
oh-my-gosh-I-can't-believe-I-am-registering-my-baby-for-kindergarden even though I'm not usually that kind of mom.
Is he ready? Am I ready? Will he do ok? Will he make friends? Will he be smart enough? Will his teacher like him? Is he too little? Will he know where to go? Will he be able to put the straw in his capri sun all by himself?
But within minutes my kid had single handedly organized the rowdiest game of hide and go seek with about a half dozen kids that he had never met while I filled out a ridiculous amount of forms and waited in as many different lines. After they had tired and squealing and running and going over and under the cafeteria tables him and his new bestie (Garrett with 2 Ts and plays T ball...yes they really bonded) tried every angle they could to break into the ice cream case and score a dreamsicle. And then I realized that really the only person I should really be worried about is his teacher.

(and if you are still confused about the helmet, it seems like a lifetime ago, but I did write about it once here)

Comments

Corinne Cunningham said…

How exciting and nerve wracking all at once!!! You both will do great :)

May 13, 2010 at 5:11 PM

elisabeth said…

Only 13 more years until I can retire? Unless I wait for your girl too!

May 14, 2010 at 3:59 PM

Either/Or

Recently I met an old friend for lunch. He was actually my senior high prom date. He wasn’t just my prom date, but had been my friend for a good part of high school. And our group has mostly stayed in touch through the years. But not him. Even though we live in the same big metroplex, I hadn’t seen him in almost 15 years. At prom, He even won some kind of senior superlative, Mr. BHS or something like that. In other words, he was well-liked, nice, funny and smart. And it helped that he drove a Camero. We didn’t break up or have a falling out. He kind of just disappeared. And not just from me, but from everyone. And I had looked for him. At class reunions. On myspace. And eventually, only about a year ago, he finally showed up on facebook. When he did, I suggested we get together for dinner or something. And he responded with a really awkward email. Explaining that he was gay. Warning me. Trying to let me out of my dinner invitation if I wanted. And I already knew this. Possibly I had ev

me too

I used to never question God. It was just part of the way things were. Just like I believed in Santa and the tooth fairy and the Easter bunny. And eventually I grew up and started to wonder. I always believed, But occasionally I started to wonder if he was always good. If he really loved me. Singular me rather than an all inclusive version. That he was paying attention. That my prayers mattered.` And I didn’t know that I should play by the rules. That questioning these outloud things in a Bible study or Sunday School class Will get you bumped to the top of the prayer list. Because I know. But sometimes I wonder. And I didn’t need their scripture memory verses or their books or their prayers. (but I guess prayers never hurt) And I was just hoping for someone else to say “me too”. And, Jason Boyett’s book, O Me of Little Faith Is one great big “me too” And like most books I like he asks a whole lot more questions than he answers. Hard ones. Ones without real answers. Ones that make me wa

imaginary friends

Recently I had a friend disappoint me. I didn’t tell them. And I didn’t write about it when it happened. Instead I seethed a little and got angrier and slightly resentful and finally dumped it on my husband. (who had some great advice that will come later) And. I have hesitated to write this piece because a lot of my real life friends read this. Maybe even the one I’m writing about. Maybe not. Actually I’m not really sure. And to be honest the best pace to work this out would be with them. Just them. And not on line. But. It’s not really about them. It’s more about me. And I don’t think there is so much to work out anyways. So, if you are my real life friend and are reading this and wondering, hesitantly or fearfully if this is about you. It might be. But it probably isn’t. And again. Even if it is. It’s not REALLY about you. And if it isn’t. It could be. If we have been friends for more than five minutes, we have probably had a moment like this. So, back to me venting to my husband.

idontbelieveingrammar

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