This morning was the first time I actually dropped Jr off in the pre-school class room instead of his “twos” room. He is not two. He is three. Also he has been slowly spending more and more time in pre-school, and last week was there all day except for the very beginning and end of each day. He was a bit trepidatious, but saw a teacher he likes playing with blocks that he loves, and after one extra hug, off he went to join in the fun.
He was ready.
As it turns out, I was not.
I walked out to put his lunch in the fridge and ducked into the dark, quiet gym to try to get the tears out of my eyes (believe me, they know that Keri is a crier at his school, but I was surprised that it hit me like that, and wanted to pull it together. )
I could hear him giggle and start to tell his friends about his birthday party over the weekend “I got a fire truck and a bike and CUPCAKES….” I gave up trying to stop the waterworks and decided to make a run for it and just get to the parking lot and let go.
Back in the Keri Mobile, I was winding up to do just that, when another mom came out and climbed in the minivan next to me. Then she suddenly jumped out, shut the door and ran to the sidewalk where she stood clutching her chest and staring at the van. I looked up at her in a teary haze.
“That’s not my car!” she exclaimed.
She got in someone else’s minivan. In a parking lot in the burbs. Because there are so damn many out here. This struck me as VERY funny, in my over emotional, crazy mom state. I laughed so hard, it probably looked like I was being tickled by the invisible man or something.
She giggled and turned red, then walked to the next (fairly well identical) van, got in, and drove away.
I half expected the owner of the van to climb in and pause, sensing a disturbance in her swagger wagon force, but she just drove away, sitting where a stranger’s buns had been only a few minutes before.
It was a roller coaster of emotion to deal with before 8 a.m. on a Monday morning.
Keri had to stop for a coffee.
Reluctantly Suburban 