The Pick-Up Line

I had done it -I had put on my brave mommy face and taken the little man to his first day of Kindergarten.

I had even managed to hold back the tears until I left the building.

I had faced my fears.

Well ... at least one of them.

I had sent my baby bird off into the big world - but an equally terrifying moment was still approaching.

The after school pick-up line.

August has been a month of change for lots of reasons - not only did the little man start Kindergarten, but mommy also began a new part-time work schedule. I have shared in bits and pieces here and there on this blog about my struggle as a working mom. I love my son and want to be involved in all parts of his life growing up, but I also love what I do for a living. And, at times, those two pieces were very difficult to balance.

My husband and I had thought about it for many, many months. One one hand, if I cut back on hours at work it would give me the ability to pick him up everyday after school (no more daycare) and obviously leave me more time for the little man.

And soccer practice.

And swim lessons.

And everything else.

However, on the other hand, not only would my paycheck suffer significant consequences, so would my career. It would mean not being the project manager of the next big project.

Or not being invited to be a part of the project at all.

But in the end, no one will remember that great marketing piece I wrote. Or the great brochure I designed.

But the little man will remember how his mommy was at every one of his soccer practices.

And swim lessons.

And everything else.

So, I put in my request with the powers that be at my job. And they said yes.

And on August 1st, I officially began my new little man-inspired work schedule, just in time for school to start.

On the little man's first day of school I knew the pick-up line would be formidable. We had been forewarned by the school principal that they were very particular about the process - and needed to be for the safety of the children. They had even supplied written instructions and a traffic flow map of where you were supposed to drive, park, etc.

As little man's first day of school came to an end, my anxiety about the pick-up line began to grow. But, with my new reduced work schedule, I would leave work at 3:00, giving me ample time to pick up the little man, who would get out of class at 3:40.

I was so anxious to see the little man and hear about his day that I decided not to stop at home for a brief moment to change out of my work clothes. I also wanted to be extra early to tackle the infamous pick-up line.

I arrived at 3:17 on the dot - plenty of time, yes?

No.

The line was already out to the street.

As I waited in the line, my anxiety grew even more. How long would this take? Would the little man be scared to not see me there right away? How would he know to come to my car? Did he even know to look for my car?

And the fear began to grow.

Am I even doing this right? Should I just park a block away and walk up to get him?

Then I stopped myself. I had survived corporate America. As a writer and graphic designer, I had faced entire rooms of people who were there for no other reason than to criticize my work and stare me down.

If I could handle corporate America, I could handle a bunch of moms in a pick-up line.

At least that's what I told myself.

As the line inched forward I finally came to park in the infamous "front circle." The little man waved hello to me, but stayed where he was.

So, I broke the rules.

I got out of my car and went to the little man, scooping him up and carrying him to my car. I wasn't supposed to leave my car (for safety and traffic flow reasons) and I was supposed to wait for the little man, or one of the teachers assisting in the pick-up, to come to my car.

But it was the first day - I could get away with it, yes?

No.

Later that night we received an all-school email reminding parents to NOT get out of their cars and reminding us of the rules and procedures of the pick-up line.

I shut the laptop and smiled.

I may not have come out of it unscathed, but I had survived.

And upstairs I had a very sleepy, but happy, Kindergartner.

Happy Kindergarten Day!

On August 17, 1978, my mother welcomed me into the world. In what I know was a day full of emotions and thoughts about the future ahead, I doubt my mother ever envisioned that on that very same day, 33 years from then, that her baby would be sending her baby off to Kindergarten.

But that's how it went - in what seemed like a cruel twist of scheduling, I sent the little man off to Kindergarten on my birthday.

It was day I had known was coming well in advance and we had spent the summer preparing. The school supplies were bought; the little man had carefully selected his new Transformers backpack and Star Wars lunch box; and mommy had been reminding herself that "It's not until the end of summer, that's still a long ways away."

Funny how time creeps up on you.

And summer flies by.

My husband had been preparing the little man for mommy, as well.

"Mommy's probably going to cry," he warned the little man on the eve of his Kindergarten start. "But they are happy tears, because she's so happy and proud of you for starting Kindergarten."

(Or, it's because mommy had visions of kicking her baby bird out of the nest into the great big world.)

So, in the morning, I put on my brave mommy face and started to get ready for the day. The little man popped out of bed and came into my room.

I picked him up and hugged him.

Then made him waffles covered in syrup for breakfast.

Then proceeded in what I'm sure seemed like an endless photo shoot to the little man.

And then the moment came - it was time to load up the car and make the very short drive to the school.

(And another photo shoot in front of the school, of course.)

I took the little man's hand and walked him inside.

My brave mommy face lasted until it was time to tell him good-bye.

The little man smiled and gave me one last hug and walked away.

My baby bird was officially out of the nest and spreading his wings.

And mommy was ever-so-thankful for waterproof mascara.

Pondering a Serious Subject

I had picked the little man up from preschool and we began our usual trek home. The little man was in great spirits and chattering away.

"Momma?" the little man said. "I've been thinking a lot today about what I want to be when I'm growed up."

"Oh, really?" I said. "What are thinking?"

"Well ... I have a lot of things going around in my brains," the little man said. "There's police mans .... and army mans ... and of course the blue police mans at the airport."

"What about fireman?" I asked the little man.

"Oh, I was just about to say that," He responded matter-of-factly. "Firemans ... oh, and paramedics."

"Well, you have a while to think about it and make up your mind buddy," I said, smiling to myself at the such grown-up conversation about growing up.

"Well, maybe when I'm 10 ... that's after 5 ... maybe when I'm 10, just MAYBE, I will have decided," the little man stated. "But I only have SERIOUS professions going around in my brains because I only want a SERIOUS profession when I'm growed up ... like an ambulance man."

The little man sat back in his carseat, deep in thought.

And Momma smiled the whole way home in awe of her SERIOUS little man.

Attack of the Lomster

It was a seemingly normal enough day when I picked the little man up from preschool. On the way home, the little man had a request.

"Momma?" he asked. "I wanna go to Red Lomster some day."

What may have been a seemingly normal enough question on this seemingly normal day definitely piqued my interest.

Mostly because neither my husband or I eat seafood.

(And yes, we have tried it all - the freshest crabcakes, the jumbo-ist of shrimp and even the most succulent lobster. Maybe it's because we grew up in the Midwest. Maybe we're just strange. Seafood just isn't something we find enjoyable. A large, juicy and rare Delmonico - now we're talking.)

"Why do you want to go to Red Lobster?" I asked.

"At Red Lomster they have lomsters ... and you can EAT them," he said, excitedly.

I figured Red Lobster must have been a topic of discussion today amongst him and his friends at preschool, so I let the subject rest with a simple "We'll see ... I'll tell Nana or Grammy Jo you want to go to Red Lobster." (Who both thoroughly enjoy sea-faring fare.)

End of story?

No.

What seemed like an innocent question was really the start of the little man's new obsession - "lomsters."

Ever since that one day there has been much excitement over "lomsters" in our house. Now we have lomster toys, lomster books, lomster shirts and I can't even begin to tell the excitement that resounded when the little man saw real-life lomsters at the Georgia Aquarium on a recent family trip to Atlanta.

Nevermind the ginormous whale sharks, the beluga whales or the million other rare, exotic or just plain cool animals at the aquarium. They all paled in comparison to the lomsters.

So you can imagine my un-surprise the other night as I was watching TV and heard a strange "kish-kish ... kish-kish..." approaching me from the kitchen.

I was then promptly attacked by my very own lomster ... with fierce silicone oven mits for claws and a big smile on his face as he made the kish-kish ... kish-kish ... noise that apparently represented the snapping of the lomster claws.

And, of course, a lomster shirt to boot.

Where Have We Gone?

This summer is flying by ... one moment it's barely Spring, and as I look at my calendar today I find that the Fourth of July is just around the corner.

But, I guess time really does fly when you're having fun.

So far this summer we have been busy ...

{We've gone to baseball games}

{We've played baseball games}

{We've cooled off with water gun fights}

{That is, when we weren't cooling off with ice cream cones}

{We've partied like rock stars}

{And Mommy and Daddy escaped for a much-needed vacation to The Bahamas with Grammy Jo, Papa, Uncle Lambo and KK while the little man went to Nana's ... but don't tell the little man we were at the beach without him!}

Higher Education

The little man sat in our kitchen, happily slurping up a hot fudge sundae. This week he passed his swim test, passing him to the next level for swim lessons. We celebrated his big achievement with ice cream.

"You're such a big kid now," I said. "Now you can move up to big boy Swim 1 and you're starting Kindergarten. You're all grown up."

As our conversation progressed, the little man became more curious about what lie ahead of him in the future.

"How many grades?" the little man asked.

"Well, you have Kindergarten, then you move on to First Grade, then Second Grade, then Third Grade ... all the way up to 12. There are 12 grades," I said.

The little man's eyes got big. "Then I'm all growed up!" he said.

"Well ... then you get to go to college," I said. "It's a super special school with four more grades."

The little man's eyes got bigger.

"And you get to live in a fancy house called Delta Upsilon," I said, marking my husband's Greek affiliation.

"Dwelta upsilawn ... that's a silly name," the little man laughed. "I don't wanna live in a fancy house."

"Well ... there's other houses you could live in," I said. "There's another super cool one called Theta Xi." (Marking his Uncle Lambo's Greek affiliation.)

The little man giggled some more. "Thtweata eye ... that's silly!"

"Well, where would you like to live when you go to college?" I finally asked the little man.

"I wanna live with Papa," he said. (Who, coincidentally, does live in our Alma mater's hometown.) "I live with Papa at his house."

"What about Grammy Jo?" I asked as I teased him. "Could she do your laundry and make sure you eat dinner every night, if you're living with them?"

"Yeah!" the little man exclaimed. "While Papa and I play with the skid loader."

And with that, college suddenly became a lot more affordable.

Prologue

Last week, it became more evident than ever that one chapter of our lives was slowly closing, and another just barely beginning.

For the last five years we have been taking on one milestone at a time: the first "I've fed him, changed him, burped him and swaddled him and he's STILL crying" milestone, his first cold, the first solid foods, the first words, first steps, etc. We ran to his bedroom to make sure he was still breathing the first time we woke in the morning and realized he had slept the WHOLE night. We even survived potty training.

And now we find ourselves at the beginning of one monumental milestone: Kindergarten.

For the last few weeks, we've been getting all the necessary ducks in a row to enroll the little man in Kindergarten. First was the parent's meeting - a brief introduction and crash course into what would become quite the gauntlet of Kindergarten enrollment.

Then came the lottery - our elementary school only has so many slots available for Full-Day Kindergarten. Because our current daycare only takes them until they are school-age, we needed a slot in the full-day program. So we submitted our entry into the lottery and waited. I went home every day for lunch to check the mail. I knew the mailman came around Noon each day.

My husband became increasingly amused at my stalking of the mailman.

And the one day I cannot go home for lunch, it arrives. Our letter notifying us that our name had indeed been selected in the lottery - the little man had his slot.

The next few weeks were a flurry of paperwork gathering, faxing and phone calls. It took more paperwork to enroll the little man into Kindergarten than it did to get him his passport.

It all finally came to a head last week at Kindergarten Round-Up. Our family got to meet the teachers, the Principal, tour the school, etc. One of the Principal's major talking points was about whether or not your child was ready for Kindergarten - that it was perfectly fine for parents to keep them back a year if there were any doubts. The Principal herself had chosen to hold one of her children back - she said she had never regretted it.

The mommy part inside of me did allow those thoughts to seep in - is the little man really ready for Kindergarten? He is far from grown up - he can't even tie his own shoes yet.

And just as I started to entertain those thoughts of doubt, those thoughts were interrupted by "Hey, TAG - you're IT!" as the little man instigated a game of Tag with the other kids in the school gymnasium. Before long, all of the future Kindergartners were running about, laughing and tagging each other.

He's going to be just fine ... I thought to myself as I heard the little man laugh with his new friends.

It's mommy that is going to have the tough transition.