Skip to main content

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

How exciting and nerve wracking all at once!!! You both will do great :)
elisabeth said…
Only 13 more years until I can retire? Unless I wait for your girl too!

Popular posts from this blog

break a leg

I do the math on my hand. This is my 5th end of the year dance recital and you think by now I’d know to remember to pack hair spray and snacks. Someone hands my daughter a bag of chips and I want to hug her. I want to tell her that I am not a total failure, that we did not lose the wristbands, we wore the right color tights and that I do at least have a few bobby pins in my pocket. I can not handle the crazy that is backstage. It is a whirlwind of squealing girls in sequins, lycra and tulle. Moms wielding curling hours and more eye makeup than the entire MAC counter, I start to sweat in my ponytail. I quickly look away as an entire row of dancers peel off EVERYTHING for a quick costume change. I was not made for this. I unashamedly let an eight-year-old I have never met teach me how to get my daughter’s hair in place and I make the fastest exit I can. We sit in the balcony. Where we have been for hours. Dance recital day is all consuming. Rehersal, hair and finding the right ti...

different

Someone recently sent me a meme about tattoos. I reminded them that I have over half a dozen, although none in such obvious places as the picture. I thought about it while I washed my hair, and how once my hair was also purple, and what kind of memes could be found about that. And also, my nose was pierced. Other than the first two tattoos, none of these were things I did in my youth. All were in my thirties. Currently my hair is a plain brown in a sensible cut. My tattoos all easily hidden with most clothing and only my ears are pierced. As this decade closes I have made efforts to dress more professionally, drink less, stay on top of the laundry although I still refuse to make my bed and talk at an appropriate volume level. Yet, I only looked back on my purple-haired days with longing rather than regret. See, I used to do those things to be different.   Sometimes I’d feel just a little trapped by my suburban life although perfect, felt a little too predictable. I fel...

voice

I remember waking up the day after the election tired and stunned. When I got to work I went downstairs to make copies and make some tea and did not make it back to my classroom until right before the tardy bell rang. I have a large class, full of all kinds of students from all kinds of backgrounds. I had not even thought about how they would respond to the election and that since we begin school so early that I might be the first adult they saw that day.  Immediately an African American on the front row told me that she was disappointed in our country. I teach science, not government and thought that I needed to turn the conversation as quickly as I could safely back to the objectives on the board, but I could not ignore her hurt and the rest of the quiet in the room. I told her that  regardless of what candidate she supported that this country is run by more than one person, that very soon she would be able to vote, that she had a voice. Behind her, a student that also ha...