It’s Not Even the First Day of Kindergarten Yet and Mommy’s a Wreck

In my house August is all about birthdays. We squeal and fuss over Mac Daddy, trying to get him as excited about his birthday as we are. Then we shift gears to dote on Bird, who needs no nudging in the I’m So Excited It’s My Birthday I’m Gonna Wet My Pants department. We also spend a lot of time indoors during while August, North Carolina’s hottest month, has a choke hold on us. And in the spare moments we steal outdoors, we spend an inordinate amount of time swatting at mosquitoes. August is a month of celebrations and skeeter bite home remedies.

By this point in the year Summer has worn out her welcome. I am tired of sucking in my stomach and searching for the perfect alternative to flip flops. The boys are sick of our weedy yard that doesn’t deserve to be called a lawn. Mac Daddy has had his fill of trying to weed and whack said yard. We look longingly at our outdoor fireplace and beckon Fall. I, for the footwear and forgiving sweaters, Bird and Deal for the marshmallows roasted in the fireplace, and Mac Daddy for the brown liquor on ice to be savored fireside. Fall is when we breathe around here. Unlike our years in Minneapolis, Madison, and Chicago, we know that what follows Fall is shortlived and novel. Fall in North Carolina is lingering and lovely.

Funny that we refer to the back-to-school season as Fall. In reality, the kids go back to school in August. When it’s hot as Hades. August ain’t Fall. I’ve been living in blissful denial all summer about what this August brings. My version of reality was quite splendid until Mac Daddy came along and poked an epee through my bubble.

Me, said with my head in the clouds: “We’ll be packing two lunch boxes every night in just a few weeks. Sigh.”

Mac Daddy, spoken with zero sensitvity: “A few weeks?! Hmph. You nuts or what? More like next week.”

Me: “Oh shit. NEXT WEEK?”

Mac Daddy: “Um yeah, where’ve you been all summer?”

Me, tearing up, knots around my heart: “It can’t be! Where has the time gone? I’m not ready!!! WAAAAAHHHHH!!!!”

Mac Daddy: “Is is that time of the month, Sweetie? Are hormones making you overly sensitive or is this really an issue?”

Me: “Grrrrr…..”

You see, this August, back to school season means that Deal is going to kindergarten. I’ve been saying it like a proud Mother Hen all summer, but truth be told, I hadn’t heard, much less believed, a word of it. Denial. A mom’s best friend. I generally wash the denial down with a nice cool pinot grigio. It’s been a fine antidote this summer. And unfortunately, not one that’s gonna hold. It’s time I come to face that sorry ass Time Bandit that’s stealing my baby and whisking him off to the land of storybooks, monkey bars, phonics, colored pencils, library cards, and lunch lines.

I’ve got the kindergarten blues. In the biggest way. Those school supplies lists really should include Kleenex, Xanax, and wine. Also, a prescription for retail therapy.

I surely can’t let on that I’m totally and absolutely devastated by this milestone. Shattered. Sad when I should be happy. Sulking when I should be proud. You see, my baby boy has been my sidekick for five years running. We’ve been a dynamite duo all these years that Bird was off at school. Deal and I have had a lot of time together just being mother and son. I regret that things weren’t that way with Bird. He was just 22 months old when Deal was born so our time as a twosome was brief. But we remedy that when we can, carving out time for just the two of us to frolic and go on sushi dates.

Bird paved a solid path for his little brother. He welcomed us both into his classrooms when I volunteered and skooched over graciously to offer a seat when we met him in the cafeteria for lunch. Bird loves to learn so he has been a shining example to his little brother, and I’m confident that Deal will flourish in kindergarten. Deal will forge his own path in school, and I’ll be right behind him. It’s not the same as beside him, but I’ll run to his side when he needs me.

And on that first day of school, it will be me who will grip his tender hand tightly while Mac Daddy nudges me to let go. The tears will roll, the sobs will heave. The house will be empty.

And so with a torn heart and watery eyes blinding my future, I walk on shaky ground as my baby boy starts kindergarten. Lesson number one: letting go.