My son has only been in kindergarten for a week and a half, and I’m already considering selling my soul to his former preschool in the hopes that they’ll take him back for the next 18 years.
I honestly don’t know if I can handle this big kid shit. Because the big kid shit is totally going to give ME the shits.
Here’s a run down of how things have gone thus far:
Day One: I got in trouble with the bus driver because I told little dude to get off with the kids across the street when the bus stopped. Apparently “they don’t cross kindergartners,” and I was instructed that she would drive down the street and drop off more kids and then swing back around and deposit little dude right in front of our house. (How the hell was I supposed to know that)?
Day Two: I went over the afternoon bus routine at least 30 times with little dude so that I didn’t get in trouble with the bus driver again. And I totally got on his last nerve after explaining things over and over and over again. And then I found myself sitting in my kitchen nervous eating all damn day until he got home because I was so worried that he wouldn’t do that shit correctly. (For the record, he did).
Day Three: Little dude decided he needed to drop a deuce about two minutes before the bus pulled up. Cue the stress.
Days Four through Six: Went pretty normal.
Days Seven and Eight: I pulled little dude out of school to attend a family event in Pittsburgh. (Shame on me for screwing up his perfect attendance record).
Which brings us right up to Day Nine.
Day Nine: Little dude came home with a freakin’ FUNDRAISING packet. And I HATE that shit. (The general consensus on Twitter is that I should just write a check and be done with it. Love the support of my tweeps).
He also came home with piece of paper with the letter “B” on it, and he had drawn pictures next to the letter of things that start with “B.”
Looks like the teacher thought the bike and balloon he sketched were pretty cute. The “bomb” he drew? Not so much.
(That’s what I get for having 9/11 news coverage on in our hotel over the weekend).
Oh yeah, and one more thing? Little dude announced that he is the “special helper” at school tomorrow, and that he has to bring in a show-and-tell item that begins with the letter “G.”
What the fu&%?
What the hell begins with “G” that is good for show-and-tell?
I suggested his bucket of “gardening tools” and he shot me down.
And his damn “guitar” is too big for his backpack.
And something tells me that if he brings in “gin,” it will be kind of frowned upon.
Yeah…something tells me that Day TEN is going straight to hell in a handbasket.
As I said…I just don’t think I’m cut out for this shit.