Time Flies

(there was one vote for every answer but "B" and "F")

And the answer to last week's poll is:

F.  Although those who answered "C" were close, but a few days off: Bee dropped S.B. off at college a few days before, and didn't manage to make it out of there dry-eyed.

Mr. C had a great first day (all hour-and-a-half of it).  Parents were not allowed in the classroom, being forced simply to watch our kids line up on the playground at the sound of the bell, then march off into the building behind their teacher.  The teacher has prevented us from watching the class all week, though I got around that: the first day of school saw my visiting mother and me lined up against our back fence with a pair of binoculars, straining to watch the kids on the playground at recess.

I am proud to report that the dot that was Mr. C (at least, I think it was Mr. C) seemed fine at recess.

I am, furthermore, proud to report that Mr. C was not the child who dropped his drawers on the playground and started to poop at recess.  That kid'll never live that down (particularly since I'm publishing the incident on the World Wide Web).

Unfortunately, that kid's name is awfully similar to Mr. C's, and I fear over time that the identity of the Playground Pooper may be confused.

Mr. C has already told us he wants to walk home by himself.  Since I don't even know if the school will allow it (and I don't want them to know yet that I'm lazy and uncaring about my child's welfare), I've told him that Daddy and I want to be able to meet him and walk him home.  To which he sighed, "Well, OK; but you need to hide."  And then he actually made me stay 20 feet behind him on the way home last Thursday.

Making him the world's youngest pre-teen.

The first day of school already has me feeling like time's slipping away.  The kids brought home some info from the school with rules on electronic device usage,  drug policies, and truancy.  As I read it all, I suddenly felt like Mr. C was already in middle school and that there were all these issues I was having to think about and deal with, and I got really depressed.

But then I went into his room and watched him for a minute while he napped and reminded myself that he was only in Kindergarten and -- although I know the time will fly -- I still had some time with my baby.

I tell you, I think this really is my favorite age right now: when Mr. C's independent-enough to do a few things on his own, but still young-enough to depend on me.  And he's frickin' adorable: so Christopher Robinish, with his wee little socks pulled up to his calves and his too-big shorts and his little striped shirts.  He's just so cute; particularly now that he's started choosing his own outfits:

mismatched socks and waaay too big shorts (although he did make a point of searching for his stylish belt)

a sweater vest with no shirt (appropriate for a 95 degree day), with a fly-swatter accessory

his chosen First-Day-Of-School outfit (I DID veto the shorts)

I wish I had a picture of the day he appeared with shorts and a ratty t-shirt, offset by a snappy tie.  He was so pleased with himself.

Yes, he's been having a good time at school.  Unfortunately, after the third day, he came home with a 101 degree fever and had to miss the end of the week.

And so it begins.

Today -- being Labor Day -- meant another no-school-day, and I think everyone in the Toxic Household is missing school.  It's getting more difficult to entertain an only child with no nearby playmates.  He spent an hour outside this morning giggling alone with his mice and -- although I'd usually find that endearing  -- today it just depressed me that he had to resort to rodent accompaniment.  Then he strapped himself into his bike helmet and started slowly riding around the house by himself. 

Finally I gave up my lofty plans to clean and took him to Chuck E. Cheese instead.  Which really was what I'd rather do, anyway.

Since we have no designs to get him a little brother or sister, I really long for him to have a friend who lives down the block.  I have the whole Leave-It-To-Beaver scene in mind: the friend, Little Jimmy, would ride his bike over to our house in the afternoons, and the boys would play ball in the yard or -- on rainy days -- spend the afternoon in Mr. C's room putting together train tracks (note to self: buy a train track).  I'd provide peanut butter and jelly and some carrot sticks at lunch, and maybe a homemade chocolate-chip cookie or two. 

Alternatively, Mr. C could also trot over to Little Jimmy's.  I could spend the entire day at home polishing my Tupperware, secure in the knowledge that Little Jimmy's mom (Beverly) was checking on the boys and would be available to smear peanut butter on a celery stick, dotting it with raisin "ants" for a fun snack. 

As it grew dark, I'd stand on my porch (note to self: build a porch) and call, "Mr. C!  Supper's ready!", and he'd yell goodbye to Little Jimmy and race home, content -- after playing all day -- to calmly lie in the living room and listen to a radio show while I mend socks and Bee smoked his pipe (note to self: encourage Bee to take up pipe-smoking).

Oh, 1950; why have you deserted me?