Now that the first and second days of school are out of the way, and the panic has been set aside for only slight-panic (I’m not crazed anymore, promise!)- I find that I am quite enjoying the sheer silence that having only one child around brings.
It actually might not be silent at ALL, but i’m so used to having two fruits of my loom around that I think any decrease in the sheer level of SOUND and NOISE ringing throughout the walls of this house on a 24 hour basis tends to sound like a tropical fucking vacation on the beach with absolutely no one around. We also have to assume this isn’t on a stormy day and the waves aren’t all obnoxious and ruining the mood by crashing onto the beach like they own the place.
Since I don’t have Holden around to
torture entertain between the hours of 8am-3pm during the days anymore, I have had to find ways to squeeze in my Holden-y torture entertainment from 3pm to dinner time.
With the weird shizz that flies from his mouth on a regular basis, I figured this would be easy to do. He would have such stories to tell me! As much gossip as an almost-5-year-old can manage; Mystery! Intrigue! BRING IT ON!
I couldn’t wait for him to get home from his first day… and not because I missed him or anything (who do you think I AM?)- but because I wanted to hear all about it, in only the way that he can tell it. I wanted to know if my worries and sheer ridiculous panic about him entering the gilded hallways of public elementary school came to fruition… or if I really was just plain ridiculous.
What did he do away from me? How did he fill those hours? Did he make any new friends?
Well, you’d be asking the wrong person if you’re asking me- the kid refused to talk about his day. 7 hours, LOST. The only thing I got was a kid that cried from the moment I picked him up (and insisted I forcibly drag him out of school), all the way home, and for another 30 minutes after that.
What about my stories? How can I possibly still be entertained
and use this entertainment to torture if the child won’t speak to me?
Over time and the stifling of whines and crocodile tears- the story started to unravel.
A) he was pissed because I didn’t let him ride the stupid bus. WE LIVE BEHIND THE SCHOOL. GUH.
B) he was pissed because some girl whacked him with her lunchbox (and here I thought he’d be the one doing the whacking… and that officially sounds wrong).
All of this over a dumb bus and a lunchbox maiming?
And then it hits me. Well, really my friends hit me by unleashing reality upon me (gee, thanks). That girl HAS A CRUSH ON MY CHILD.
Do I need my lady-beating stick ALREADY? I was not prepared for this!
I beat the ever living SHIT out of little boys when I had crushes on them; and if I do say so myself- my uterus sure did make a fine looking boy specimen- capable of attracting the ladiez; not that I’m biased or anything.
So although I have NO idea what he filled the rest of his day with (though there was brief mention of playing outside and singing a song), I know about this little girl with the lunchbox of fury.
Ohhhh the mortification on his wee little face when I told him that if this girl is beating him, she must Liiiiiiiike him, and if he can ONLY remember her name and the name of ONE other boy he met at Open House, he must Liiiiiiiike her too. Commence
MOMMY! SHE IS NOT MY GIRLFRIEND!
Yeah ok, tell that to her lunchbox that she’s probably never going to wash again, kid.
Now, at every single opportunity I get, I ask him about Lunchbox Girl. Every time he gets all flustery and embarrassed. It.Is.Awesome.
If I shoved a kid out of my hooha and had to have the thing double-snipped and super-stitched because of him, I am going to squeeze as many giggles out of him as I possibly can. His giggles? yes, but mainly I was referring to my own.
Came home from school yesterday- yet again in tears (but this time because I was ‘late’ even though I showed up at the time I was TOLD by his teacher, the same time I showed up the first day that no one told me was late, but I digress)- but much more willing to talk to me about his day. I think this was because I took him out for ice cream as to cement the fact in his brain that I am not the asshole who FORGOT him at school. Sheesh.
He tells me about some “Days of the week” song… which the only words he remembers to are “days of the week” -figures; he told me he got a special prize for punching in his lunch number 5 times in a row, and then he told me the tale of a little girl behind him in line who apparently cut him and then turned around and growled at him like a feral cat and then bent his pick-up pass.
Oh really now? A little girl GROWLED at you? And what is this little girl’s name- I ask with an evil grin.
Mmmhmm, as expected- Lunchbox Girl.
“OOOHH HOLDEN! She REALLY must like you!”
I’m not sure I’ve ever seen Holden embarrassed before, but his face pinked right up.
He claims not to like her back. He claims he “just wants to be friends” with all the “pretty girls”- and he also STRONGLY claims that he will NOT be having a girlfriend- “Naaaaahhhh Mommy. I don’t need one of those!”
He also continues to get extremely uncomfortable every time I bring up the laaaadieeeeeez in his class.
This, my friends, is parental enjoyment at its finest. Well, y’know… besides the times they bring home A’s and shizz- but he’s 4, damnit. I have to accept reality and
torture the hell out of thorougly enjoy these younger years in any way that I can.
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