The Pretty + The Brave: School Days

*Sigh* Nothing like realizing the summer has officially come to an end and the chaos of life is going to quadruple in 24 hours. This was my reality two weeks ago. Bleh.

School has started and all three munchkins headed off to the uncertainty of America's public schools, while I trudge through Corporate America despite the fact that I'm a commissioned officer in the United States Air Force (but that's a whhhoooooole 'nother blog). Hubby will be here and there while going through his CSO training and the dog and cat will watch us filter in and out of the house and wonder what the hell is going on. Ohhhh sweet summertime - why must you leave me?

So, in preparation for the school year, I went shopping. Now, I'm the typical girl who loves to shop so you would think back-to-school shopping is a magical time for me. Nope. On the contrary. School supply shopping was (and always is) horrendous. Unless, of course, you are a parent who is sending your oldest (or only) child to school, in that case, you don't count. You are a first-timers. And the reason you don't count is because you're endorphins are surely off kilter so you're all excited that your "baby" is growing up and yet you're sad that your baby is growing up. You buy your child new clothes, taking them with you to make sure you get the fit just right. You take them school supply shopping so that they can choose what design they want on their pencil box and folders. Your child is drunk off the hormones oozing out of your pores and they are behaving like an angel throughout the entirety of your shopping trip that lasts ALL DAY! You go home excited, not caring how much you spent on this new adventure of sending little Johnny off to 'kinny-garden.' You wake up at 0400 that first day of school, you eventually get little Johnny up and dressed, you make him whatever he wants for breakfast and off you go, smiling, happy, taking pictures of Johnny's every move as you take him to his 'first day.' On your way to drop him off your stomach gets a little queasy, feels a little like morning sickness but you brush it off and talk in your peppy voice (the one that makes others sick to hear so early in the morning) about how great his first day will be and how big of a kid he is now. As you walk Johnny to class and bend down to bid him farewell a burst of emotion hits you. You can't say a word because you will end up crying even harder so you try to hold it in. You kiss Johnny. You hug Johnny. You make sure he knows where his lunch is and where his backpack goes. You tell him you are going to pick him up after school and that you are so very proud of him. Your peppy little ass ain't so peppy anymore and you slowly back out of the classroom while waving goodbye to your 'baby' and blowing him kiss after kiss after kiss. He blows you a kiss and you catch it. You put it on your cheek. He turns away from you and he is strong. He doesn't waiver like you did. He doesn't tear up and his lip doesn't quiver. Your baby just turns around in his chair as if he's ready to take on the world. After all, he's a big boy, he's in Kindergarten now.

And that is why you don't count. Because I damn near teared up just writing that. Because that little 'Johnny' was my not-so-little-anymore-Ethan. And that's how it went when he was heading off to school for the first time - six years ago. You're new at it all. And when you're no longer new at it, apparently your endorphins level off and you're sane again (Thank God).

E's first day of school EVER (August 2004)!
Although 2 year old Ari stole the spotlight in this picture (note the fact that she is wearing a backpack too)

Don't get me wrong, I was excited when Ari started school for the first time and I'm pumped that Owen is starting school this year. It's just that I'm a mom of three this go 'round. I'm experienced. And not only do I know what to expect, but I've actually done it before. I guess it's kind of like when you are pregnant with your first baby and you have 18 baby showers, perfectly filled out scrap books for every age, stage, holiday, new tooth and lost tooth. Then when baby number two, or three, or five comes along you have a single baby shower, your baby book is partially filled out and the photographs are in a shoe box instead of in the scrap book. The tooth fairy leaves candy (ironic, right?) or a 50 dollar bill because you're no longer prepared with the cool dollar coins the instant someone has a loose tooth. This is why you don't count.

Ari's first day of school ever (August 2005).

Because now, now that I'm on baby number three, things go differently in our house leading up to that 'exciting first day'.

First and foremost, a list gets made. The clothes, shoes and undergarments everyone needs is noted. I know exactly who needs what and what quantity, color and size - therefore, bodies aren't need. That's right; the boys can stay home with Daddy and the ladies of the house can run this back-to-school-operation the right way. We grab our lists and out we go. We get the boring stuff first; pencils, paper, notebooks, crayons, blah, blah, blah. We know what colors, designs, etc to get. We don't have the urge to 'oh' and 'ah' at the selection of backpacks. No. We know what we came for and we get it. Then we head to the fun stuff - clothes and shoes! This is fun, but we're not giddy. We're on a mission. We have armfuls of clothes along with a pretzel and a slushie and we're wondering why it's so damn hard to juggle it all (come on, you can't go to the mall and not get an Auntie Anne's Pretzel). We pay for our goodies and I have a mini heartattack as I see my total and reach for my debit card, kiss it, tell it I'm sorry, and swipe it. We head home. Unload. Wash clothes. Dry. Iron. Hang. Fold. Separate supplies into one pile per child. Write their names on the proper items. Load the backpack. Hang the backpack. And wait for that first day so that we can wear the backpack. I wake up only an hour before the kids on the first day in order to walk around in my underwear and have my coffee in peace. Then I wake them up to eat pancakes and bacon. I am no longer a short order cook so they all eat the same thing. They head back upstairs to brush their teeth and get dressed, and they walk out the door donning the smokin' hot outfits Ari and I picked out. We take some pics. I ask some questions and lay down the typical ground rules you spew out at your children before you go into public to ensure I don't get called by the principal for someone using the phrase "dueche bag" and not knowing what it means (yes, my four year old did that last night at the dinner table and had no clue that he just said something wrong). I get one more picture of the three of them before they go their separate ways and think to myself how perfect they each are. I steal a kiss from Ethan as he pulls away from me because apparently he's too old to be seen receiving affection from his mother in public and he walks himself to class (I admit I scoped out the place the week before at the back to school night so that they all knew where they were going), again, too cool to be escorted to class apparently. I walk Ari to class, kiss her forehead and she clings to my neck (as usual when giving me a hug) but this cling lasted an extra second or two, which tells me that she's going to miss me. But besides that extra second of a hug she doesn't say it or show it. Instead, she smiles and walks into the classroom, chin in the air. Confident. Friendly. Beautiful. I take my monkey's hand (Owen) and walk him to his class.....

I get teary-eyed on our way to his class and not until that very instant my endorphins are off kilter again (for the first time in four years). I guess, in that moment, I'm one of those parents that I say doesn't count. I can hold it together up until the second I know he's officially school-aged. He's no longer a toddler - he's in school. I watch my big boy as he sits there in a circle on the floor with his classmates, looking around, soaking up his new surroundings. I want to sweep him up, take him home with me and stop him from growing up. Instead, I linger in the door way and watch him. I blow him kiss after kiss after kiss. He blows me a kiss and I catch it and put it on my cheek and then on my heart. He smiles and takes the kisses he caught and puts it on his forehead. He turns back to his teacher but keeps glancing at me because he knows I'm not okay. And I just stand there until I am okay and until I know he's okay. I blow him one more kiss and slip out of the classroom...childless and teary-eyed - because he's my baby, and it was his first day.