Alex starts Kindergarten in two weeks. I know! I can't believe it either. Wasn't it just yesterday he was still attached to me at the boob?
[Funny boob side story: Today on the way to camp, Genoa proclaimed that the car smelled, "LIKE BOOBS!" and I asked, because I couldn't resist, "What do boobs smell like?" She answered, "Like MOMMY, of course." OF COURSE. I guess smelling like boobs is better than smelling like a DUDE.]
[I feel like I'm talking about my boobs a lot, what with the best bra reference the other day, etc., but let me say this in my own defense: WHAT DO YOU EXPECT FROM A BLOG NAMED AFTER MY BREAST MILK?]
Anyway. Kindergarten. My feelings on the subject can be summed up as follows:
I know I'm supposed to be all bleary-eyed and nostalgic about it, but I'm just... not. Alex has been in some kind of school or another since he was barely three and now at almost six, it just doesn't feel like a big deal. It actually feels like a monumental pain in the ass.
First, I could rant AT LENGTH about the utterly ridiculous schedule, (Tuesday, Friday and every other Wednesday. Full days.) but I've done that already. Second, the PAPERWORK. Registration packets are more blood-draining than ZOMBIES because at least the undead respond kindly to the hot end of an AK-47. Registration paperwork, on the other hand, responds only to ball-point pens and TIME. Time I'd rather spend doing just about ANYTHING else. (Like blowing up zombies.)
Third, and the reason for today's hasty RANT: Immunizations. This was the VERY LAST THING on my Kindergarten to do list (well, I suppose I still need to buy him some clothes, but no one has to yank my handle too hard to get my ass into an Old Navy). I thought all I needed to do was go down to the doctor's office and get the form signed saying he was up to date.
But, lo, the child was not up to date on his immunizations. He needed FIVE SHOTS.
Which he got this afternoon.
WITHOUT A SINGLE TEAR.
If nothing else indicates his readiness for a sturdy public education, his bravery in the face of THAT MANY NEEDLES does. He was amazing!
Far more amazing than I was since all I could do was bitch and moan about how we had a 12:30 appointment and didn't end up leaving until ALMOST 2:00! Which was so far beyond Genoa's nap time that I would have sold her to the receptionist for the price of a Popsicle.
THEN we had to go to the store because Mommy needed to order checks at the bank and Daddy does occasionally like to open the fridge and find actual nourishment inside of it. Now we're home and trying to survive and there is exactly one hour, thirty minutes and 23 seconds left until cocktail time.
NOT THAT I'M COUNTING OR ANYTHING.