The boys started school on Thursday. I was so excited for them. Partly in a selfish way. The kind of mom selfishness that creates daydreams about grocery shopping alone. But mostly excited for the boys. Jack was so jealous last year of all the Pre K kids who got to stay an extra hour and go in a different entrance to the building (hey...it's the little things, right?). And Finn spent every Tuesday and Thursday last school year crying "Why can't I go to school!??!?!?!?!!"
So, I was excited about school.
Until I had to do this....
I had to pack a lunch. For my child. My little, tiny son who just learned to walk yesterday. Who drank his breakfast from a bottle just last week. Right? Surely he's not old enough that I could entrust some teacher stranger to supervise the 2nd meal of the day twice a week. I mean, he could choke. He could request something different that only I can make for him. Or maybe, just maybe, the ultimate worst could happen and he would eat all of his food and enjoy his stranger teacher.
Packing that darn Transformer lunch box made me cry. I'll admit it here on blogosphere, but for whatever reason, that night I tried to hide my silent tears as they dropped on a soggy bologna sandwich. It was the first of countless packed lunches I'm sure. The first of many other moments where my supervision isn't needed. Because, as much as I don't enjoy it, my boy is growing up.
Both of them are. So weird how that happens.
Here's Jack proudly displaying the satanic lunch box that made me cry.
And since everyone loves pictures of kids from behind....
They went to school. Together. I did do pirouettes down the aisles of Kroger because I was alone....but only after I cruised on autopilot to the bakery for a free cookie, and realized that I had no one to give it to.
So I ate it. (And bought more bologna.)
