Those Can't Be Real

I know he's still growing, so they could be developing naturally, but somehow I doubt it.

You know how it is. Once celebrities start with the enhancements, they can't stop.

Reports from Kindergarten

On the first day, Lumpyhead said he had math and reading. He reported what he ate for lunch, but his answer at 7pm was different from his answer at 4pm. So he either had two lunches, or is an unreliable dietary witness.

When pressed about math, he said he "did skipping," which I assume means counting by twos, or fives, or tens or something. Because he also claimed he did it well, and if he tried to do that thing where you big hop, little hop on one leg and then a big hop, little hop on the alternate leg - instead of writing about Lumpyhead's first day of school I would be posting a photo of my son with a big floor burn on his face.

***

I was warned when Lumpyhead started kindergarten that he would come home exhausted. A full day of learning, plus no mandated rest/down time, creates a five-year-old who is wiped out by pickup.

On Day 1 he was running laps and doing that super-fast run-in-place dance move when I came home. He was so energetic that Nathan Jr - who was happily riding an apple juice buzz - regarded his brother with suspicion and an unmistakable "Dude, CHILL OUT, you are seriously harshing my mellow right now" gaze. Nathan Jr joined him in the dance for about three seconds before needing to lie down (I suspect room-spins from the apple juice buzz).

Wiped-out kid, my ass, Kindergarten. WHERE IS MY ZOMBIE, Universe? Huh? I WAS PROMISED A ZOMBIE.

The Horrific Milestone of Kindergarten, Week 2

I'm getting better at this Abandon Your Firstborn Son thing.

First, I moved his booster seat to the other side of the car - the curbside - so he can more easily exit the vehicle as the PTA Ladies circle, hungry for the tears of an anguished mother.

Second, interspersed between the preying PTA Harpies are little children, probably there for a softening effect, most assuredly forced into their duties by their PTA-cult-leader mothers. Poor Dears. (Or, you know, responsible fifth-graders who volunteer for Safety Patrol.) They stand at the Kiss-and-Ride, with their reflective belts and shoulder harnesses, cheerfully opening car doors and greeting arriving children.

This morning I got a Child Minion. He helped Lumpyhead out of the car and into his backpack, then shut the car door. I watched him take Lumpyhead's hand and lead him onto the sidewalk.

And then my corpse piloted my car to work, for I died from the cuteness.

(Oh, and I have visual confirmation that the Evil PTA includes males. A father-type stood there at the Kiss-and-Ride, his bloody fangs bared, as I drove away. Or perhaps he too was smiling at the outrageous cuteness happening aside my right rear quarter panel, IT'S HARD TO SAY.)

PTA Ladies Took My Son

It's true what they say. Once the video stops rolling and the cameras turn off, the world is a cruel place. Just ask Lindsay. Or Lumpyhead. Away from the glare of the digital flash, Lumpyhead experienced kindergarten this morning – the non-sanitized version.

I'd been warned that Day 2 was worse than Day 1. On Day 1, the PTA Ladies who lined the parking lots and directed traffic were a friendly presence. On Day 2 they were a menacing horde with one goal: Rip My Boy from His Mother's Loving Arms.

Oh, don't bother to respond, PTA Lady. You with your sympathetic "I've been there" eyes and your gentle "It will be okay" smile. You cruelly forced me to get back in my car after a quick hug – maybe two – oh, and a little kiss – and send my five-year-old to walk that fifteen feet to the school door ALL BY HIMSELF.

Don't think I missed that fleeting expression of doubt on my son's face. I saw it. I'm his mother, and I notice these things. That momentary uncertainty was the last thing I witnessed before I pulled away.

Rest assured, PTA Lady, that if I could have identified you through my veil of suppressed gaspy sobs, you would be SWIFTLY AND SOUNDLY SHUNNED the next time we meet. You have escaped my wrath, for now, and must earn my future condemnation through direct insults or misdeeds (on at least two occasions, because that first time I'll probably chalk it up to you having a bad day). But if that happens, you will SUFFER MY MALEVOLENT RAGE, most likely in the form of a carefully worded and subtly sarcastic email, in which my righteous anger and indignation will be apparent only to me.

Oh, I will have my revenge, PTA Lady. You and your kind are hereby put on notice. How dare you?

-Lumpyhead's Mom

P.S. I do not want to join your group. But I probably will.

Would Prefer "Garten" to be Preceded by "Beer." Or "Ina"

Lumpyhead starts kindergarten tomorrow. His backpack is loaded, school supplies have been delivered, and his lunch account is funded. He met his teacher last week, visited the school, and tested the playground. We've been working on the pep talk all summer, and he's excited. He's ready.

I'm not sure I am.