Kindergarten May Give Me The Shits

OMG.

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.”

“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.

 

This is a perfect "G" item, don't you think?

 

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.

 

 

I Loathe The Bus

My little dude has only been in Kindergarten for three days, and I’ve already developed an irrational fear of him getting on the school bus. Actually, “I LOATHE the bus.” (You get ten extra points if you know what movie I just quoted).

And it’s not because I’m getting all sappy and shit about him growing up and going off to big kid school, because (NEWS FLASH) that’s what kids DO.

I actually did okay with the whole bus routine the first couple times, but today, things changed a bit. To be quite honest, I’m still a little bit stressed out after today’s bus stop events.

Little dude and I went out into the garage to wait for the bus. It always passes by our house first and it goes down the street to pick up the other kindergartners in the neighborhood and then it loops back around to pick up my little guy. We saw the bus go past, so we walked down to the end of the driveway for him to be picked up.

And then it happened.

He looked at me and said, “Mommy, we need to go back into the house for a second.”

Then I said, “Honey, we can’t go back inside right now or you’ll miss the bus!”

And then he said very convincingly, “But Mommy, I NEED TO POOP!!”

I asked him if he could hold the poop till he got to school, and he said he could not.

And then for a split second, I had visions of my poor little dude either a.) squeezing his poor little butt cheeks together the whole way to school with a turtle head poking out, or b.) not being able to hold the poop in and shitting himself on the school bus.

At that point, I scooped him up, ran inside, sat him down on the toilet still wearing his backpack, and told him to poop faster than he’d ever pooped in his life.

Somehow he managed to get the deed done in about ten seconds, and we made it back outside to the bus stop just in time for him to be picked up.

And off he went to school, happy as a clam.

But now, each and every single time I go to put that kid on the bus, I will probably traumatize him by asking him over and over again if he has to poop before the bus shows up.

And even if he does have to poop, he probably WILL suck it in just to shut me up.

Oh man…I totally loathe that damn school bus.

I think I need an extra glass of wine to calm my nerves in preparation for tomorrow’s departure.