Look Both Ways
Tonight I went to my son's (offspring the elder) first grade orientation. Actually, it was orientation for parents of soon-to-be first graders. Parents need more orienting. Particularly, as it happens, in terms of LUNCH and BUS PROTOCOL. These are hot topics.
I don't know if it was the two week old baby working a pacifier nestled alongside his mother's arm a few seats down the row or the discussion of foreign language options and instrumental music programsor the PMS, but I almost started to cry. I didn't, of course, because TWGH gently reminded me that such behavior would be completely embarrassing, especially given the fact that we have known at least six of the people in the room since our own first grade years and, between soccer games and Wawa stops,* we see every other person in attendance at least twice a week. (Plus, I don't weep pretty. I am a snuffling, blotchy crier. Not dignified. Not moving. Certainly not cute.)
The baby whose entire body fit in the space between my elbow and my wrist is going to first grade. Small potatoes in the scheme of things, I guess, but still, BIG POTATO for mommy.
I don't know if it was the two week old baby working a pacifier nestled alongside his mother's arm a few seats down the row or the discussion of foreign language options and instrumental music programs
The baby whose entire body fit in the space between my elbow and my wrist is going to first grade. Small potatoes in the scheme of things, I guess, but still, BIG POTATO for mommy.
Sentimental Moment or Why Did the Baguette Cross the Road?
Don't fill up on bread
I say absent-mindedly
The servings here are huge
My son, whose hair may be
receding a bit, says
Did you really just
say that to me?
What he doesn't know
is that when we're walking
together, when we get
to the curb
I sometimes start to reach
for his hand
by Robert Hershon
from Poetry Northwest, Volume XLI, No. 3, Autumn 2000
Poetry Daily, University of Washington, Seattle, WA
*Wawa = convenience store with bizarre name. If you're not from round these parts, it sounds a little funky, I know.
Hey Nutmeg...this is for you, too.
I wrote about crying earlier this week, relative to Danica Patrick's tears when she won the race. Petroville wrote about crying, too. Why are we all weepy this week? Are our cycles synchronized??
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Aw shiat. I cry every freaking time I go into school and see a concert or have a meeting or go on a school trip. I just can't believe this is the same kid I nursed and held close just a few years ago. It makes me sad and happy at the same time. I'm so freaking proud of him but OH BOY I miss those baby years...
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Okay, now I'M doing the ugly cry!
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Ah, the downside to being the salmon of the district.
And I cringe to imagine what the LUNCH issue is. Are we moving to no-trash in our hippie-dippy way? (As one of the local private elementaries has.) I guess I can wait the two years to see what the lunch issue is then...
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