Mondays on which Jack goes to school, that is. Sadly, tomorrow isn't one of those wonderful weekend ending Mondays. Jack does not have school tomorrow, nor did he have it on Friday. That, for those people weak in basic math, adds up to a long, long, LONG four day weekend with my six-year old.
My loyal readers know that I love my son beyond reason. But, let's face it. School starts at age five for a reason...and it isn't because the kids are ready. The MOMs are ready to have a few hours a day in which they don't incessantly hear "MOMMY!" called and in which they are not badgered with requests, demands and complaints large and small. Back in the day, all my mother had to do - and she did it often - was say, "Go outside and play" and that was that until dinner time, when she yelled for us. In we went, from playing with the other kids in our neighborhood, completely unsupervised. Ah, those were the days.
I started this post a couple of hours ago and now am picking it up again. Jack is occupied with his "play date", a cute little girl from his kindergarten class. I am so grateful to have a few moments to myself. They are in the backyard playing. Jack always gets some sort of costume on when a friend comes over. Today, it was a makeshift Harry Potter get up, complete with a red scar drawn in marker (!!) on his forehead, a black cape and a pair of old sunglasses from which he removed the lenses. Oh, yes, and a Nimbus 2000 broom on which to fly and a wand. I wonder what the other moms think when they drop off their own seemingly normal kids.
Play dates are for the most part, wonderful because your child is out of your hair (selfish happiness!) while he is having fun and learning how to interact with a peer (guilt relief!). But, they are also fraught with anxiety for your dear BloomingtonGirl. You see, and I share this in absolute confidence, I am intimidated by kids. Yes, it is true. I am overly worried about whether they are having a good time, worried that they are picking up bad habits from my kid, worried that they might go home and tell their mothers something that would be a tip off to what a clueless mother I am. I don't want Jack to be either the kid who's boring and weird or the kid whom other mom's think is a bad influence because he has too many violent toys (star wars light sabers, lazer guns, swords), too many toys, period and watches inappropriate movies like Star Wars. Oy. Talk about neurotic. I am going to go back to being obsessed with my body fat level the size of my pores. That's much more manageable than worrying about my kid.
Later this afternoon, I have to go and meet with Jack's teachers for our parent teacher conference. Since when did kindergarten necessitate a parent teacher conference? I don't mind, actually, because I really like Jack's teachers and I haven't been out all day. Chris gets out of it because the unlucky guy woke up with some kind of bronchitis relapse and pink eye this morning. Poor guy.
Yikes! I just peeked out the window and saw Jack's little friend holding a garden hose over our charcoal grill, spraying water everywhere. Great. Now her mom will arrive and find her soaked. I guess I'll rethink that campaign for mother of the year I was considering.