Metal Meredith

Not only have I sent my darling daughter (insert snicker here) off to Kindergarten this year, but I have to be an adult now and go have a conference with her teacher. How the hell did I arrive at this point?

Sure, I volunteer at the preschool and ok, I have done lunch duty in the Elementary School cafeteria, but this is a teacher. What is that? Yes, I do have friends that teach. It isn’t that I am not old enough, it is that I don’t feel old enough. I mean, how am I old enough that someone could take me seriously as a parent? To sit down and have a conversation about how she is doing with her writing and comprehension, without feeling like someone is playing a prank on me?

Of course, last Sunday I bleached my hair and then freaked out when I realized I had to go be taken seriously by this teacher. I scrambled to have it re-dyed, “fixed” as it were. Sadly, it looked even worse in a lovely Ronald McDonald red-orange shade. I managed to tone it down in the slightest way with some brown on top, but it is still clearly not normal. This isn’t something new, as I accidentally dyed my hair pink when I was being promoted to floor manager at Ruby Tuesday. I bleached it and then it became pink when I was promoted to manager at Starbucks. There were blue streaks when I bought my first house and now, it is ruby red when I have to be a responsible parent.

Do you see a trend? I do. I am guessing that although I don’t plan it out, I am sabotaging my own grown-up-ness. I would have a field day if I started in on my tattoos. I am smart enough to know what all of this is for. If I am so hell bent on not being average, but I still want to not be the center of attention, what is a girl to do but continually ‘mess up’ when trying to innocently dye my hair?

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t do this all on purpose. But once I am faced with yellow hair in the mirror, the oh-shit reaction kicks in and I start to get that feeling in my stomach like I have had too many Diet Cokes and then went on some spinny rides. It is the same feeling of doing something really stupid or knowing that one day you will get caught. I hope I don’t get in trouble for impersonating a parent. 

For those friends and family, especially the other moms I know, I promise I do have feelings and emotions. I know at this moment, when I am bursting with joy and overflowing with excitement at the prospect of both of my children being in school within the next two weeks, you must think that I am void of any real feelings. But I am not. Promise.

Here is the thing. I just don’t get all weepy over the normal things that I am apparently supposed to. I will fully admit to rolling my eyes at the parents of the kids starting preschool, crying as they dropped their children off. Maybe Vivienne made it easy for me? Her rather uneventful departure and lack of need for me was quite pleasing when she was 2. We didn’t go through a big separation anxiety period with her until, well, this summer. By then, it was annoying and I didn’t care at all. These past few weeks, I have read about parents tearing up at the very thought of the school bus, at their little baby being in a grown up school all day with (gasp!) bigger kids. I smile politely when I talk to parents that ask me “I am so sad. What will I do all day without my baby around? I will be so lonely without him/her.” Then I turn and put my finger down my throat and feign gagging. Sorry, I am a big ol’ meanie like that.

In all honesty, I am so excited for my Vivienne. I am thrilled about what she will learn, the new things she will do, the new skills she will master. Phil and I both were darn right giddy when we went into the art room. We both have fond memories of using all the Tempera paint and paper mache and sculpting clay. Even the smell had me swooning. Then there are the library books, the computers, the triple lines on the paper for big and little letters and those huge pencils. We bought her markers and pencils and a composition book! Compositions! I love that.

Henry is next, so there is still time. Perhaps Henry will cause my motherly instincts to kick in? Will he be the kid that causes me to openly cry as I am leaving him, reaching for me? Who knows if I will fill my eyes with tears the moment I see the bus coming to carry off my first born? Maybe I will sit at home and weep as I think of her in that great big school. I think I will, but it will be from happiness. And I will be sitting, but on the toilet, in a rare moment of peeing alone that I have not had in 5 long years. That, my friends, is what will make the tears flow. 

Vivienne remains unphased. She tried, but thankfully failed last year, to avoid turning 4 years old. It was months of her insisting that she would not turn 4, would not blow out candles, would not allow us to sing for her. We did it all anyway.

This year, she grasped the reigns of her birthday and ran full force with it. We had one of those giant parties with a lot of kids. It was actually a lot of fun and painless in all areas but the wallet. However, I did not have to lift a finger to do more than go down a giant slide, press the button of a camera and make sure the grin on my child’s face never disappeared.

It is not hard to believe she is 5. After all, our lives have changed so much since she came into the world. I tried to tell her tonight about what was happening 5 years ago at her bedtime tonight. She just listened and then asked, when will I be 7? How about 9? When will I turn 15?

I just smiled. Took a much needed deep breath and told her to slow down and go to sleep. 

Vivienne was on Spring Break this past week. Add that to the previous week where she was off 4 days for the tonsillectomy, she has had just too much time with her little brother. I was too often hearing that she just didn’t like him and then letting out a big disappointed sigh when he was brought downstairs in the morning or after a nap.

Yesterday, when Henry was on the sofa watching something riveting like “Barney”, Vivienne surprised me by plopping down next to him. At first it was a no-go with lots of elbow fighting and whining.  Soon things settled down, as seen by my attempt at getting a photo where they were both looking at me and smiling.