This morning in my closet:
"Hmmmm....too slutty. Too dowdy. Too plain. Too flashy."
"What the hell are you doing in there?"
"Trying to find something to wear. I mean, I don't want Monkey Man's teacher to get the wrong impression or anything."
"True. I guess wearing what you wore to the granite place probably isn't such a hot idea, babe."
"I guess you're right."
So it all went well. We met the unknown Mrs. Smith, who happens to maybe be a second- or third-year teacher. I'm all about that, because in my opinion the newer teachers are usually still pretty enthusiastic. And a lot of the older, more experienced teachers still have that fire too. I've seen it time and time again - usually around years 5 - 7, the teachers tend to get burned out a little and question if this is really what they want to do. After they get over that hump (or move on to other things), it's smooth sailing.
We dumped all of the school supplies into tubs labeled with what went in that specific tub ("Socialism at its finest" snarked Pete, one of our friends) and then left the kids in Mrs. Smith's capable hands while we paraded off to the cafeteria to listen to over an hour of....ZZZZZZ. I did get to ask about how they were handling peanut allergies and got a good feeling that they have a handle on the situation. I even had a few parents seek me out after the orientation to thank me for even bringing the food allergy issue up. One of MM's classmates is severely allergic - if she even comes in contact with peanuts or peanut butter she is anaphylactic. I think they are going to end up banning peanuts from their room altogether.
Meanwhile, Monkey Man got a snack, a story, did some coloring, and took a spin in the Big Cheese around the parking lot. By the time they got back, we had gotten to meet Mrs. Smith and had a brief time to review the class' daily schedule and all that stuff. He was reeeeeeally quiet. Maybe too quiet.
He was walking around the room looking. Just looking, not touching. Checking it all out. Strangely quiet and pale looking (although the lack of a window in the classroom might be attributable to that). Finally, we got outside and as I was walking him to the car I asked him if he was scared of starting school.
"Nah, I'm not scared. They have Legos just like they do at my school!"
It will all be fine. Once Tuesday is over and I can have my breakdown, that is.
The kid is so much like me at times it's crazy. When I was his age, my mom got a call from the principal that she had some concerns that I might have some "issues". Like what, my mom asked. Oh, said the principal, she just doesn't interact with the other kids at all. I'm thinking maybe she's...oh, retarded (keep in mind this is back in the day before everything was PC!).
Give her a week, my mom said. You'll see.
What they discovered were two things. First, I could already read. I was able to read the front page of the New York Times to my mother at the ripe old age of 2-1/2 years old. So I was bored, bored, bored. This was conquered by taking me to the library, where I read books and wrote book reports while the other kids were learning their ABC's.
Secondly, I wasn't NOT interacting. I was planning how to take over the world. By the end of the first week, I was the total boss of the playground. I was like the General MacArthur of Flocktown Road Elementary.
And the more I think about it, the more he reminds me of myself. Except for the reading part. Just call me a child prodigy gone horribly wrong. It's almost a relief that he's, well, normal.
I'm still kind of stressed out about the logistics of his day. How will he do on the bus? How will he do in the cafeteria? How the hell are we going to make it with only a 20-minute nap each day?
Time will tell, I guess. And I am slam worn out from worrying about all this stupid shit, because it will all be fine.