This morning was Cedric's first day of pre-school. And I am a hot mess. But its not what you're thinking. I wasn't super emotional or weepy or even nostalgic over the fact that what was once a mass of cells in my abdomen is now going to school.
Nope, I'm a hot mess because .... well its a long story. It starts last Friday when Cedric went to his school for a few hours for new student orientation. When I picked him up his teacher told me that he had used his fingers as guns to shoot at another student. Then when she tried to correct him, something along the lines of "We leave our guns at home..." Cedric told her no and swung his hand through the air. Like, if she had been closer or he more inclined, he would have walloped her good.
My reaction was shock and dismay. How could my sweet, gentle giant of a child be violent. How could what was once a mass of cells in my belly be so disrespectful to authority. In about 30 seconds I questioned every decision I had made and blamed his Dad for ever playing a video game in front of him, as well as every boy in daycare who was obsessed with Iron Man, and his Uncle Peter who one time let him watch about 10 minutes of Band of Brothers.
On top of this I already felt like a child intruding on a grown-up party. Seriously I feel about a decade younger than the other parents who are dropping off 3-5 year olds. Its weird.
So that brings us to Monday morning. I plan to arrive good 15 minutes early to give Cedric time to acclimate to his classroom and exchange a few words with his teacher. Its really important to me that she know that I am a competent and responsible (read "good") parent who isn't letting TV raise her kid.
Instead I am frantically searching the house for my car keys, only to realize that more than likely they are with Zach on a flight to Baltimore. I put Cedric in the stroller, strap Eli to me in the Ergo and hoof it the 6 or so blocks to his school. Instead of being there early we arrive just in time. Instead of having time to adjust to his classroom, I basically army march my baby into the room and sit him down in the first gap I find for circle time. Then I rush a goodbye, love you, no guns, be kind, etc. and dash out. Then its the awkward walk through the other parents who in my opinion have their acts together, whose house keys are not crossing over the Appalachians, who are sipping coffee, chatting about their Summers.
Walking home it starts to rain. Literally. So by the time I get home I am no longer just a hot mess but wet too.
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Update: Zach just called. My keys were hanging on a key hook by the front door. But in my defense they were under Cedric's Cardinal's hat.
