My friend Lisa, who lives in Nevada, emailed me a couple of weeks ago to tell me that the day her kids go back to school she plans on alternating between sleeping and crying. I’m doing the very same thing, since The Boy starts third grade today even though he never really finished second.
The Boy actually seems to be quite excited. My husband and I are riding his wave of enthusiasm, figuring that we have approximately three days where The Boy will willingly go to school before he realizes that having to be somewhere all day every day isn’t as much fun as he anticipated and he refuses to get out of the car.
Even that sounds better than the past seven months.
Not that there haven’t been memorable moments. Why, just the other day when we were flying back from our “vacation” we were upgraded to first-class. The Boy, who loves flying first-class (but who RARELY has the option, mind you), taunted the other passengers as they lumbered past us to the economy seats. How I love flying first-class! he crooned, opening up his blanket and spreading it across his knees as he sipped from a glass of apple juice. Boy! I hissed, noting the black stares of the other passengers, Do not anger the masses!
I’m totally kidding. I didn’t really say that. But I did turn a withering look in The Boy’s direction and remind him where we usually sit. And anyway, karma showed him who was who thirty minutes later when the flight attendant came by with a plate full of tightly wrapped, steaming, white cloths. Taking one from the tray with his silver tongs, he offered it to The Boy, who, limited in his knowledge of cleanliness, contemplated it for a moment and then, deciding that it was clearly the course that followed his glass of apple juice and ceramic ramekin of mixed nuts, tried to take a bite.
In the spirit of keeping things first class, I finally tried the Violet Crown movie theater. I love the lounge, in part because they offer Antonelli’s cheese plates and cake balls from Doris and Dixie (it’s my book launch party all over again!) and they have killer cucumber martinis. Once I got in the theater, though, I was kind of disappointed. Sure, the leather barcaloungers are comfortable. But when I decided I wanted a cake ball, I had to get out of my seat and slink past other moviegoers and head to the snack bar. Frankly, I prefer to be served. And when I’m finished with my hummus plate, I’d kind of like someone to clear it away. I really don’t want it sitting in front of me for the next ninety minutes.
When I got home from the movie I sat down across from my husband and put my head in my hands. I’m tired, I said, I don’t like Austin anymore because it’s too hot and I don’t like being hot and I want to move. And my husband nodded and said, Jennifer, do you know how sometimes you get crazy?
I did not acknowledge the question.
Right now you’re crazy, he informed me, And you need to write and do yoga and then you’ll feel better again.
But I didn’t write and do yoga the next day. Instead I went to a friend’s house because she was having a few people over for brunch and she catered everything from The Steeping Room and some cute little cupcake shop.
Also, she has a new light in her kitchen that makes me giddy.
And all of my friends seemed as haggard as I’ve been feeling lately because even though their third- and fourth-graders were back at school, they all have preschoolers who start school the same week as The Boy, except for our lovely hostess, who has a ten-month-old and gets even less space than any of the rest of us. And we all sat around the table and ate sun-dried tomato and feta strata, and scones and clotted cream, and talked about how maybe we should move to Colorado to start a commune.
If I move to Colorado, I’ll be closer to the wedding site of my Colombian Princess, who claims she’ll be getting married next summer in Tahoe, but hasn’t done anything yet to make that happen. Actually, I’m a tiny bit worried that I’m the one responsible for nothing happening because I’m the matron of honor and I’m thinking I should be planning something.
But I’m too stuck on the word matron. Can’t I be the best woman instead?
Also, I do not want to wear a bridesmaid dress, mostly because I’m forty thirty. Don’t worry, said my Colombian Princess when I voiced my concerns, I’m thinking my bridesmaids will wear dresses of their choosing, just in the same color. Oh, I said, What color is that? I’m thinking champagne, she confided.
Champagne?
What do you think? she asked. I think, I said, That you’d look fabulous in champagne because you have dark skin and black hair and smoldering eyes. But I have white skin and blondish hair and I look good in scarlet and navy and turquoise. In champagne I look dead.
She’s taking that under advisement.
Just wait until I lobby for bare feet.
In the meantime, my house is for sale and I’m supposed to be moving to the haunted house near The Boy’s school. So I don’t know if Colorado is going to work out. Actually, I don’t know much of anything right now because I’m hot and tired and every day brush fires break out along the highway because of this crazy drought and my brain is nothing but shot from hearing the constant sputter of an almost-nine-year-old Boy pretending to fire a machine gun at his dogs.
And that’s why I wrote this post last Friday. Because while you’re reading this, The Boy is enjoying his first day of school and I’m spending the day like my friend Lisa.
I’m sleeping and crying.
Copyright © 2011 Jennifer Hritz hritzontheedge All Rights Reserved
I hope that you can keep the school train rolling for your own sanity! There have been a few mornings (o.k. every morning) where at least one of mine has said that she didn’t want to go. I just say something zippy and fun about school and I proceed as if there is no other option. Somehow that is working for me right now, but I don’t know if it will continue. Most of the older one’s complaints are about peers, and the issues typically boil down to things she needs to work on (learn how to put on blinders!), and I sincerely tell her why these things are important to learn and that school is the best place to do that. A friend told me that the kids are going to be looking to me to see if I believe that we have made the right decision. So even though I question the choice we made, I’m sticking with it and acting as if there is no problem until something majorly egregious occurs.