Okay. Now that that’s been said. The chalkboards. I think they are nice. A really great touch for the first and last days of school. Hell, if my kids were going to school I’d probably have them doing the same…but that really brings me to the point of this post. IF THEY WERE GOING TO SCHOOL.
Now, I know just as much as the next person how hard it is to be a working mother. Or should I say “work away from home” mother. I don’t want the mommy warriors slinging poop at me. I work. Being a stay at home mother is work. I work. Being a “work out of the home” mother is work. Been there, done that… on both sides. Fortunately for me, or maybe unfortunately depending how you judge I have always had my mom around to help out. Yeah, baby! Free child labor. Er, I mean free labor to watch my children.
However, Luke has never been to school. He has never really been on many play dates. Poor boy doesn’t have many friends. Yet. Mentally, physically…no issues. (Let me take off my biased mommy glasses) Okay, very few issues. He speaks clearly and fluently. He knows all his colors, ABCs, shapes, every single automobile invented by mankind, can count to 15, sings “Let It Go” on an octave that makes the dogs cry…he does the dishes, vacuums, makes his bed…did I mention child labor? You get the point.
But, my son has EXTREME separation anxiety. I suppose that’s what you call it. Like, I’m talking to the ultimate degree. I just suddenly had this vision, of 15-year-old Luke reading this on some futuristic fancy computer screen and turning bright red…. *note to self: delete this entry before he can read* But for realz….he can make himself vomit on command if he is upset enough, and would go into a catatonic shock if someone he was unfamiliar with was around and I (or his dad) wasn’t.
Keep in mind, he is 2 1/2. But I see kids younger than him holding up those chalkboards with Pottery Barn Kids book bags and goofy smiles jazzed to go to school. So my question, should I be concerned? Let’s be real. When it’s finally Luke’s time to hold the chalkboard will I be able to write something cutsie like: “When I grow up I want to be a firefighter.” All I envision Luke saying: “When I grow up I’m going to strike revenge on my mother for making me hold this sign and go to school.”
Seriously, I weep for the future. Mainly because I usually weep after cleaning up his vomit from our car, clothes, and carpet.
A vicious cycle, indeed.