Sunday: Flora lost her top front right tooth. Thank goodness because it’s been loose forever, and she’s been whinging about it. She figured it was worth $5 or $10, but the Tooth Fairy appraised it at $1. I blame the economy.
Monday morning, I took Flora to her new school at 7 a.m. to pick up a school jumper. I thought there was a uniform exchange going on, but as I was the only parent in evidence, maybe I got my dates or times wrong. News flash: IT WON’T BE THE LAST TIME! Two teachers let me in, showed me the rack of gently used uniforms, and I picked up a jumper and a white polo shirt. So, she’s got something to wear the first day.
Everything else I ordered from Kohl’s.
Tuesday: She lost another tooth at daycare, this one on the bottom left. I didn’t even know that one was so loose!
That evening was Flora’s “Meet and Greet” at school. I had to take all the kids, but it all worked out… until the last five minutes. Also: it was hard hauling around a 20-pound infant with a diaper bag and a purse. That may have been poor planning. Then I let the girls play on the playground while I packed The Boy and His Gear into the car. When I called to them, Flora came, but Kate did not. Hence the count downs, the explanation of consequences (no night time show, no night time treat), and then the dragging to the car kicking and screaming. An hour-long tantrum ensued.
Wednesday. Oh wait, Wednesday I don’t have anything going on! Except the usual. So: dinner, clean up, bath, bed. I’m going to stay up filling out school-related paperwork, for both Flora and Kate.
Thursday: Flora’s first day of school. For future reference, the first day of school and my period are not allowed to happen in the same week ever again. #hormones #emotional
On Monday morning, she looked so *small* walking though the hallways of her new school. Maybe with other kids her age around her, she won’t look so tiny.
The heart cramps. Or something. There is this weird feeling that happens — to me, to parents in general? — when we watch our kids growing away from us. I can’t speak to every parent, obviously, but while we are essentially raising our children to do exactly that — grow away from us — it … pulls. tugs. hurts in an undefinable way.
I’ve said similar things here (and elsewhere) before: I am glad they are growing up, becoming more independent, etc., etc. I am not one to lament the maturing of my children. But it does cause an interesting, indefinable sensation that is not altogether pleasant around my heart. Some combination of pride in them, ache for their small selves that used to be, and hope/fear for the future, theirs and mine (as a mother).
And, yeah, I get a little teary-eyed, too.
So, there’s that.
Thursday night: Kate’s orientation at her preschool, which is at her once-and-future daycare, but still a requirement. We were specifically asked to leave our other children at home, so: a babysitter. Argh. I hire a babysitter too often lately it seems to me.
And then the weekend will bring more cleaning, cooking, and shopping than can possibly fit into two days, but which will get done in two days because that’s all we got. And what doesn’t fit won’t get done, and we’ll start all over in a different way on Monday. Yippee!