Monkey Business

First day of school.

Oooooweeee.

We were prepared. We really were. Uniforms were laid out, some of the pieces even ironed. (Yes, the middle’s. Hers were all hand-me-downs, so I figured it was the least I could do.) Lunchboxes ready to go, snacks packed, water bottles filled. Cute little sign written up in chalkboard markers, nutritious breakfast prepared in the way of a bag of powdered donuts and homemade (ahem) chocolate chip muffins. Sugar is one of our love languages over here. (Judge me, people, I’M SECURE.) Forms all filled out by type A mom, placed in bookbags in their cubbies (Nerd Alert: yes, I had some custom made), Jitter Glitter (a nerve placebo given by the teachers) sprinkled on the little man’s head (and pillow and under the pillow and in his pants’s pockets for the next day and basically errrrywhere), alarm clocks set and we.were.ready. We weren’t even sad. Not a tear to be found. (See my most recent post:https://dailyparrscription.blog/2019/08/06/marinated-in-the-last-days-of-summer/)

We were ready.

Fast forward to the First Day of School A.M.

The older two get up and dress up and tie up new shoes. They eat their nutritious breakfast of muffins (the middle child proclaims that, “Wal Mart sure knows how to make a good home made muffin!”) with a side of Tums (for the older one-I get it) and sort of squeal together in giddiness about the first day. The little one gets up and gets dressed new shoes and all, and he’s all there for the breakfast–powdered donuts–(that only show up at our house one other time during the year when our Elf brings them)–also with a side of Tums. He gulps them down while watching his iPad and waking up. He obliges my picture requests and even suggests just a “plain” one that doesn’t include him holding the hand lettered first day of school board. I’m thinking he’s okay with all of this.

After I’ve snapped the girls’ pics, brushed my teeth, put on my bra (https://dailyparrscription.blog/2018/03/06/psa/) shoes, and had the babes kiss Daddy bye, I declare it’s selfie time!

RUT ROH.

He declares it’s not! (Can you tell?)

“It’s time to load up, y’all!” I cheerfully say. Cheerful this early is work, y’all.

The girls bound out to the car and they don’t even fight about the front seat or any seat or any thing, for that matter. Oh the irony! Little man tells me he’s not going. Like this:

“I’M NOT GOING TO SCHOOL. I’M NOT GOING. I’M NOT!”

Well, he is. He really is, and it’s up to me to make sure he does. I grab his bookbag, and his hand and draaaaaaaaaaag him out the door. I’m gently trying to reassure him that he is, in fact, going, and that he’s going to be okay, just fine, and for the love would he pick up his feet so his new shoes don’t get dirty. I physically place him in the car, in his booster seat and close the door real quick like. I jump in the front seat, crank up and throw it in reverse before he realizes he could open the door and jump and run. He’s not even buckled and I don’t even care at this point. My coffee sloshes out because I reversed out of the drive so quickly, and he decided he best buckle up else he’s in for some whiplash. He might not have wanted to go to school, but he wanted to live to see his iPad and the powdered sugar donuts another day.

The entire route to school, which thank the merciful heavens isn’t that far, I hear this cacophony:

Sis 1: “W, it’s ok, buddy! You’re going to love school! Kindergarten is so much fun!”

Sis 2: “Buddy, you are going to be ok! You will have TWO recesses! And you used your Jitter Glitter–“

Him: “–it’s not wurking (he’s got the cutest little misarticulation ). <lots of sobbing> IT DOESN’T WURK. I DON’T EVEN LIKE THE PLAYGROUND.”

Me: “You are going to be fine! You were fine last year, remember? And you LOVE the playground. You told me so just yesterday.”

Sis 2: “What’s that different this year from last year? You didn’t act this way last year!” (guess what sis this was?)

Him: “I’M NOT GOING I’M NOT GOING I’M NOT GOING I’M NOT GOING I’M NOT I’M NOT NO I DON’T WANT A TISSUE. I’M NOT GOING TO BLOW MY NOSE!!!”

Sis 1: “Wipe your snot, buddy. It’s going to be ok!”

Sis 2: “You don’t want to go in the class with boogers on your face and see your friends that way! And besides, your friends are all there, you know H, and—“

Him: “I’M NOT GOOOOOOOOOOOING!!!”

Me: “You are. You really are! It’s going to be ok!”

We say our little morning prayer that’s our ritual, and Lord, I’m asking you now to forgive W because he was yelling during the whole thing, being very un-sacred like, and I pray that you could actually hear our prayer and it wasn’t drowned out from the screaming banshee in the backseat. Amen.

We pull into the parking lot of DW, which is really one of the happiest places on earth, like the other DW (Disney World, duh). All of us pile out of the car except one. That little fella of mine climbs himself all the way to the backseat in the most fartherest position he can be from me and is all curled up like in utero in the back of my Toyo. My heart hurts as I grab him by his new shoes that he was so excited to be wearing, drag him to me and pick him up wherein he clings like white on rice.

{I feel like here I need to tell you that the school’s theme this year is Jungle and all the school is decked out in the most adorable jungle-y stuff including zebras and lions and vines and lizards. Yes. Real.life.lizards.}

And keeping in theme, I’m bringing in the Capuchin Monkey. Or maybe a leech? Those are in the jungle, too, no? Anyhoo, I’ve got a stage three slobbering, snotty clinger. I bid my girls/cheering squad adieu and I’m so proud of them– they skip gaily off to their respective classrooms, and I head to drop the monkey off in his cage classroom. Everyone is so sweetly patting my leech on the back, whispering sweet things in syrupy, loving voices, and all that love from them and me and him is totally punching me in the gut. BLESS the sweet teacher’s heart as she peels him a loose from his monkey mama, like the peeling of a banana- gently so there’s no bruising (ha! I kid, I kid), and then he sort of turns into a banana- a little mushy. I kiss his little blonde blonde head that still has jitter glitter stuck to it because you can see clear through that hair, tell him bye and I love him, and gallop like a wounded gazelle out of that jungle.

I pass “Diana Jones,” the leader of the pack, and tell her that they may need some reinforcements (because I left a wild one that may need a tranquilizing dart), and all of the sudden I’m super thankful that I’ve got some dark sunglasses…

I make it to my car sort of nodding and blubberishy to my friends that offer their smiles and love, and as I sit there I can’t help but just think. I’m seeing how fast time flies and I realize that I’m sitting witness to a situation that will all too soon be flipped. I’ll be the snotty, slobbering Capuchin Clinger on my then grown monkey as I drop him at college, saying “I’M NOT GOING I’M NOT GOING I’M NOT GOOOOOOOOOING,” to my husband as he peels me off to drive back home.

With jitter glitter flying in my wake.

P.S. I was updated throughout the day from both Dr. “Diana Jones” and W’s teacher with pics and encouraging words. I told y’all this place was like Disney World. I love leaving my babies in loving hands!