Bye bye masks! It would feel good to burn them all, but BB still needs them for the bus and it’s not my style to get rid of something I might need in the future. Just ask my over-stuffed house.
I’m relieved for BB. It’s tough going wandering around with a mask and fogged up glasses. Last year, a week after her ophthalmologist appointment, her pre-k teacher mentions,
“I’m worried she’s having a hard time seeing. How are her glasses?”
Great as far as I know. I ask BB,
“Are you having a hard time seeing?”
“My glasses were fogged up.”
Now she wipes them, but a year ago I think she may have just sat there and waited it out.
And now there is no daily feedback from her teacher. I’m left to sift through BB’s version of events in an often futile effort to discover the truth.
The other night BB was telling a very long winded, detailed version, of that day’s recess. It bordered on fantastical. She finished with,
“Then So-and-so grabbed snowflakes from the air, made a snowball and was about to throw it at So-and-so, but I stepped in between and blocked it.”
“I thought you had indoor recess today.”
“Oh yeah, we did. This was back in the fall.”
The next morning she prances to breakfast in a tutu. She tells me,
“Mr. L. told us to wear tutus today.”
“Your gym teacher told everyone to wear a tutu?”
“Don’t tell him I said that.”
And BB may be introverted, but it’s good to know she feels very comfortable giving her teacher a piece of her mind.
At the beginning of the year her teacher called on her to answer a question, to which BB replied,
“Oh no Mrs. C. I wasn’t raising my hand.”
Then last week BB came home and told me,
“Mrs. C. told me to practice my lower case letters.”
“Ok.”
“I told her I don’t have time for that.”
I told Mrs. C. it turns out we do have time for that.
Then in passing BB mentions that math is hard. A little alarm bell goes off in my head. I ask,
“What’s hard about it?”
“I lose my breath saying all those numbers.”
Good to know.
And this was from awhile ago, but it may be one of my all-time favorites. BB and her class were learning the song “My Country, ‘Tis of Thee.” BB informs me,
“It’s in old English and it always makes me want cupcakes.”
“Cupcakes?!?”
“Yeah you know… My country, ’tis of thee, Sweet land of liberty, Of thee ICING!”
I’m all for sports. I’m all for people watching sports. It’s not my thing.
Yes I watch BB play soccer, but really I’m there because she can’t drive herself and I enjoy talking to the other parents.
I can get sucked into anything on TV, especially if it comes with snacks. I get absurdly invested. I’ll scream at the TV during the Super Bowl despite not having watched a game all season.
When I fell head over heels for Captain, my disinterest in watching professional sports didn’t feel like anything that was part of our compatibility. But it dawned on me, I don’t know how much later, he’s not into watching sports either.
So the two of us combined watch the Olympics, the Super Bowl and whenever a game is on at someone else’s house.
The first week of kindergarten, BB’s teacher sent an email and paper note home Thursday night:
“Our class will support and cheer for the New England Patriots on Friday, by having a Patriots’ Spirit Day. Feel free to wear Patriots clothing or Patriots colors to school. Go PATS!”
BB does not own any Patriots clothing. I have a Patriots sweatshirt. I used to work in a bar.
BB does have plenty of navy blue and red. BB also has very strong opinions about what she wants to wear. I read her her teacher’s note.
She’s irritated she doesn’t have anything with a logo. Captain and I are irritated this is even happening.
There are so many things in this world we could be raising awareness around and a professional sports team doesn’t seem like first place we should be putting this energy.
BB is very aware of logos: fast food restaurants, cars, Target, Stop & Shop. Our local Stop & Shop got a make over and BB said,
“Why’d they change the logo?”
“I don’t think they changed the logo.”
“Yes they did!”
Sure enough they did. I was more focused on the new wine and beer aisle.
Many years ago, non-sports watching Captain was gifted a pair of Patriots fleece pajama pants. There’s no arguing with fleece. They became his daily pandemic uniform.
When BB and I were out for a walk last year, a neighbor was flying a Patriots flag, BB asked,
“Why do they have a flag with Dad’s pajama pants on it?”
I explained football.
Now along comes “Patriots spirit day.” I send a mad, logo-less BB to school. BB returns just as grumpy,
“Only 3 other kids didn’t have logos.”
I ask Captain,
“Are we spending $15 on a Patriots t-shirt? It’s the last thing I want to spend money on.”
He goes off on a tirade about capitalism and commercialism. I do not even look to see what apparel is available.
Friday comes along again and another Patriots spirit day. At first I assumed it was the whole school, but it’s actually just BB’s classroom. I ask Captain,
“Is this going to be every Friday? Maybe I should get her a t-shirt?”
BB puts on another navy blue dress, red hair bow and leaves in a huff.
I put a t-shirt in my Amazon cart. It sits there for a week. I’m still so annoyed, but I’m dealing with an equally annoyed BB every Friday and for how long? Do they stand a chance of going to the playoffs?
Don’t answer that. I don’t really want to know.
BB’s also been begging for footie pajamas. I find some good ones for her at Kohls. While I’m on their site I search for Patriots gear. Just for the heck of it. Up pops a Patriots dress with sparkly hearts and the logo front and center.
Now I’m about as excited to buy Patriots gear as I’ll ever be. I’ve gone from hell no, to maybe, to how could I not get this for her? I show it to Captain. He agrees.
We let her know the good news. She questions us,
“Does it have the logo?”
“Oh yeah.”
She nods her approval.
I send a very happy BB off to spirit day today.
Considering BB turns every morning into a long, drawn-out, fashion experiment, if we’ve found our Friday uniform, I’m counting it as a win.
We’re getting the hang of the new routine, despite a few family-wide panic attacks.
We’ve lived in our home, at the corner of a four way stop, for four years and I’ve known all along that the school bus drives by many many times.
I just didn’t know how many. Six times in the morning and six times in the afternoon. If you think I’m exaggerating, there’s actually a chance I’m under reporting.
Until this year it was a special treat if we saw it go by, but it didn’t affect my life one way or another. Now the distinctive braking of the school bus is enough to send my entire household into a frenzy.
7 a.m.: I’m enjoying my precious one on one time with my coffee. The bus brakes and adrenaline shoots through my body. I talk myself off the ledge. BB’s bus comes at 8:07 a.m.
7:07 a.m.: BB is snuggling with me on the couch. THE BUS! BB is on the verge of a meltdown. I talk her off the ledge.
7:30 a.m.: Captain is in the middle of making breakfast. THE BUS! He looks at me panic stricken. I talk him back.
7:37 a.m.: RB is spooning some cereal into her mouth and the rest into her lap. THE BUS! She yells,
“BUS!”
I remind everyone,
“BB’s bus comes at 8:07 a.m.”
8:00 a.m.: THE BUS! My stomach lurches, Captain braces himself, RB squeals and BB screams,
“Is that my bus?!”
“Technically yes, but remember it loops around the neighborhood and picks you up on the way back?”
“I want to go outside.”
“Ok, but you have time.”
“I want to go outside NOW!”
ME TOO.
After an hour of panicking, I remind everyone, including myself,
“Even if we do miss the bus, we have a car and it’s a 5 minute drive to school.”
Then the whole thing repeats in the afternoon. The bus driver won’t let a kindergartener off of the bus without an adult there to meet them, so it feels even more important to not miss the afternoon bus. BB gets home at 3:25 p.m.
2:30 p.m.: I’m enjoying the quiet when… THE BUS!
Captain is still working from home, so he gets to shout things from the library/office/gym/room-off-of-the-kitchen-where-it’s-a-terrible-place-to-work-with-small-children-around,-but-I-didn’t-pick-it. He yells,
“THE BUS!”
“I know!! It’s not BB’s!”
BB loves the bus. She tells me,
“It’s not like when you were a kid, the seats are really nice.”
Of all the millions of things that are not like when I was a kid, the school bus seats look very similar. And I have had the chance to see them go by many many times.
My first day of kindergarten 1987! And I may be in the market for a pair of these high tops.
Kindergarten check! BB is on cloud nine. Fishy Wishy is ready to repeat pre-k and I’m looking for my sanity. It’s gotta be around here somewhere.
Back in June when Flippy first came home, before we even had time to rename him, I was already thinking to myself,
‘It would be amazing if I manage to keep him alive. Then at the end of the summer I could send the text message, “When’s Flippy’s first day of school?”‘
A week ago I got to send that message. It felt as good as I imagined. I got a message back reassuring me that if we’d grown attached, we could keep him.
No. No. And no. At that point BB was running around in RB’s diapers and I just couldn’t handle wondering if Flippy was depressed or if this was the morning I’d find him belly up.
At the Cape there was talk of setting him free, never mind that he’s a fresh water fish. My beach buddy pointed out,
“Oh no, you can’t do that, he’d be like ‘Where are my flakes?'”
If Flippy doesn’t make it through his second year of pre-k, it won’t be on my watch. I’ve had about all I can do to keep track of the kindergarten schedule.
First there was the playground playdate and practice bus ride. There were 80 kids on the playground and BB went to the swings 100 feet away, all by herself.
I had promised myself ahead of time that I’d follow BB’s lead and not push too hard on the being around other people thing.
Then lo and behold, BB returned from her solitary swinging and suggested we go find some kids in her class. I spotted one standing with her parents. Worth a shot.
There must’ve been some magical, unicorn, fairy, kindergarten dust in the air. The girls took off around the playground. A little while later we lined up for the practice bus ride. BB’s new friend asked,
“Do you want to sit together?”
At which point BB held out her hand. They boarded arm in arm and while I had expected to get teary eyed when BB left for her official first day, I did NOT expect to cry for the PRACTICE bus ride. But I did.
BB had an amazing time. The behavior at home continued to deteriorate. Captain was at a loss. He kept saying,
“What is going on?”
“Kindergarten is starting soon.”
“Right but-“
“No that’s it. I guarantee it.”
I mean I didn’t know for sure sure, but it sure seemed unlikely she’d go to school in her baby sister’s diapers. We just had to get through 5 more days of reverse potty training.
BB threw multiple tantrums because she wanted to pee in the diaper, but couldn’t. And not that I said she couldn’t, just that she’s so used to going in a toilet, or outside, that she couldn’t relax enough to go in the diaper. It took her a few days, but by T-minus 3 days until kindergarten she was peeing in diapers again.
BB went for a school tour joined at the hip with her new friend. Then there was a 2-hour, drop-off, practice day. The class was divided in half by the alphabet. There must’ve been more of that magical kindergarten dust, because BB and her new friend’s last names fell into the same group.
Getting emotional over the practice bus ride should’ve been a warning to me, but I approached the practice day as if I’m not someone who can cry over a Budweiser commercial. BB’s kindergarten teacher held out her hand to introduce herself and I started to cry.
I made sure BB didn’t see. She waved goodbye and trotted off.
She may be a clone of Captain, but the one expression of my genetics might be BB’s adventuresomeness.
Two hours later I return and learn that not only did BB have a wonderful time, but she used the bathroom. And for someone who spent a large part of the summer refusing to use public restrooms, peeing outside and most recently returning to diapers. This was a very, very good sign.
Then the real deal. The first day of kindergarten. The only day I thought I’d actually cry. BB was super excited, then a little quiet. I was so focused on the logistics, and taking photos, that the tears barely came.
8:10am. How is it possible that I won’t know anything until she gets off the bus at 3:30pm?
Preschool would’ve texted a photo by 8:12am. I check my phone. I remind myself that if BB decides not to talk, she has all of her identifying info pinned to the front of her dress.
I check my phone again. I don’t know what I’m waiting for, but I check my phone again. And again. The next 7 hours would’ve been a variation of this same theme if it weren’t for my amazing neighbor throwing a “First Day of School, MOMosa brunch.”
It saved my sanity. And magically, however many mimosas later, it was time to welcome home my kindergartener.
Captain and I hovered on the corner. I obsessively refreshed the bus tracking app. It was making very slow progress. At least ten minutes late. As it appeared on the horizon, I stood camera ready, then the bus knocked over a neighbor’s basketball pole.
Keep driving! Where’s my baby? The driver stops, gets out, assesses the damage, decides to drive the remaining block to us.
BB bounces off the bus. She couldn’t be in a better mood. She’s full of stories and tales of eating vegetables at lunch. A unicorn of a day.
What a relief. I offer her help with something, I can’t even remember what and she rolls her eyes at me,
Good Times with Jess 