Hollis is starting pre-school in a few weeks. He's incredibly excited. He has a new back pack. He's potty trained (for the most part). He's excited about school. Everything is perfect.
Except for one little problem.
I am in complete and utter denial.
My son is not about to turn 3. He is not getting hair on his legs and turning into a lanky boy. He is not developing an attitude to go along with his newly developed verbal skills. (OK, maybe that actually is happening. I mean he's my son, right? Some sarcasm and disrespect were bound to creep in somewhere.) He's not growing up.
This morning on our way to daycare those lovely rose colored glasses I've been wearing were rudely ripped off of my face. They were ripped off by Mrs. Noel, Hollis's soon-to-be teacher. Damn her.
She sent all of the kids a nice little letter and some stickers. Hollis demanded I read the letter to him as we sat in the car this morning:
I'm very glad you're going to be in my class this year. We're going to have
lots of fun learning new things, making new friends, having parties, playing and
Our first day of school will be Tuesday, September 4th. I'm sending you a
name tag to wear to school that day.
On Monday, August 27th, between 10:00 and 11:00, our school will be open
for "meet the teacher day." Please have Mom or Dad bring you by to meet me and
some of the other children in your class. I'm looking forward to meeting you
I couldn't even make it through the letter without breaking down. How on earth am I going to make through "meet the teacher day" and the first day of school without traumatizing Hollis?
When my voice began to crack as I was reading him Mrs. Noel's letter this morning, Hollis asked, "What's wrong, Mommy?" I pulled myself together, bravely smiled at him in the rear view mirror and said, "Nothing, sweetie. Mommy's just happy for you."
On the 27th, just ignore the woman sitting in the corner of the blogosphere quietly weeping and rocking herself back and forth.
Labels: Big H, Mama Drama, School