This past weekend was full, yet again, with family, everyone of which commented on Big D going to a "big boy school" and all the ways he would now be a "big boy." There's got to be something a little unsettling about all the emphasis people were putting on this milestone. I had downplayed it as best I could knowing that he's a little timid with transitions. Pour little dude cried his eyes out the night before his last day at pre-k/daycare. So anyway, Big D and I went to a half-day session for parents and kiddos so that he could get acquainted with his teacher and meet some of his classmates. Initially he was glommed on to my leg but gradually loosened up to his typical silly self. This is when my mama anxiety began to spike.
I worry about his silliness and tendency to follow suit when others are getting a little wound up. Like all mamas, I want to believe that my kid is going to be "perfect" or at least "normal." What the hell either of those words mean is beyond me except I'm pretty sure that roaring like a dinosaur in class is not either of them! Or it is and I've just got to CHILL. I was relieved when a gaggle of three little boys swarmed Big D and I as he was drawing a dinosaur and one began making mysterious wild noises and announced, "I'm a creature monster." Right on, dude. Please make friends with my son so that he's not the only nut job in the class!
Fast foward 24 hours to the first full day of kindergarten. Like most of the parents, I hung around in the room, took pictures and fussed over my kid. I left without any tears - his or mine and thought, "Alright. Cake walk." That night I got an email from the teacher making a general statement to all parents to tell their kids not to THROW ROCKS on the playground. Ah, crap. Marched my bum into Big D's room to discover that yes, mama, I did throw rocks and I have lots of good reasons why I did so and clearly it's not my fault and by the way, what will happen if I do it again? And so it begins . . . My child the kindergarten menace. I should at least add that he and several little boys were toss rocks off the playground structure and not actually at anyone.
I called my BBF (that's right, right?) to commiserate as her 5 year old just started kindergarten as well. We swapped horror stories and I, at least, felt much better about things. I get that I'm neurotic and my job messes me up -- I begin to lose track of what's "normal" (there's that word again) and begin to have nightmares about my kid's behavior. AHH! It's like the pastor's kid that turns into a whino and prostitute. What do mental health therapists' kids turn into? I'll keep you posted on that one . . .