“Hey buddy, you excited for pre-school on Tuesday?!”
“It’s gonna be fun. Are you gonna make lots of friends?”
“What about Miss Michelle? You liked her, right?”
Shit. Shit. Shit.
“Leanne went there and she loved it.”
I’m dead serious, his response was:
“Can we stop talking about school?”
We have our share of issues with Leanne. The child will randomly start chewing her hair or mindlessly bite her blanket while watching TV, but asking her to use the same fork for both chicken and potatoes in a single meal sends her off the deep end and shaves another few minutes off of my life expectancy.
However, we did get lucky when it came to school. Meg and I walked her to her classroom, she kissed us goodbye, and that was that. No tears. Er, scratch that. No tears by Leanne. Meg and I bawled the entire drive home.
Austin, on the other hand, spent the entire pre-school open house latched onto Meg like a damn lemur. He’s still in the phase where he’ll lose his shit when the doorbell rings if you’re not carrying him, much less leaving him in a room full of strangers.
This has left Meg and I dreading dropping him off for the first time on Tuesday. For the past week or so, we’ve been strategizing about the best way to pull this off. It’s not going well.
- Run in, literally drop him in the classroom, and run to the car, apologizing to the teachers profusely on the way out.
- Drug the boy and leave him there asleep.
- Blindfold him and say we’re going to Disney World, leaving it to his teacher to explain what the hell is going on when the blindfold is removed.
Perhaps “not going well” is a bit of an understatement.
On top of everything else, it’s also putting a strain on our marriage. We can’t come to an agreement on if it’s better to pack tequila or vodka in his backpack as a preemptive apology to his teacher.