Wednesday, August 3, 2011
I planned a peaceful send off for my oldest on his first day of first grade. Followed by an equally peaceful kid-free brunch with other elementary moms, followed by a much needed coffee date with one of my besties, followed by some sewing and shipping of backlogged etsy orders. And then maybe run 7-10 miles depending on the heat. Instead, this...
Coop wakes up and sleepily walks downstairs to my room. I shout, "Oh my gosh, first graaaaaaaade!" He rubbed his eyes and turned around and walked away from me without so much as lifting an eyebrow.
I realize that due to yesterday's adventure he has no shoes to wear to school. Attempts to dry in dryer left them hot, stinky, and still wet. Begin frantic search through every closet. Call all neighbors with boys ages 7 to 17 looking for cast off tennis shoes. Find a pair of 11s in little brother's closet, Coop wears a 13 1/2 (but I don't actually know this because I've been making him wear 12s all summer).
Load car to drive little brother to summer camp -- which begins at 8:40. Cooper is barefoot because we're hoping his shoes will dry by the time we get back and before we leave for the first day of first grade.
Arrive at summer camp to discover that Mason left his lunch on the step. Grrrrrrr.
Shoes still wet. I suggest he wear flip flops. He says -- and I'm not kidding -- "Mom we need tennis shoes for P.E. It's for our own safety." Stuff huge feet into little brother's shoes and take proverbial first day of first grade photo in front of house. Coop's feet look like horses hooves. He is hobbling. And I'm really worried about state of affairs. But I grab Mason's lunch and decide to drive Coop to school since I'm not 100 percent sure he can walk with bound feet.
I guess all parents have decided to drive their children to school because it is an absolute cluster surrounding the school. Cooper starts freaking out because he REALLY appreciates punctuality. Really.
Coop prances (his feet are clearly killing him) past principal who says, "Don't worry I haven't heard the last bell, yet." Does he not realize this is exactly the kind of thing that will instill panic in Coop's heart. The Coop likes to be first in line. Not last. Not sliding in just before the tardy bell. First.
Coop says, "Oh great, something is leaking." Sure enough, water bottle has leaked all over his pants and he looks like he's had an accident. Not a great look for your entrance onto the first day of first grade scene. He's now almost hyperventilating.
Last bell. Sees best friend -- who is crying -- and just about looses it, too. Lets me kiss the top of his head, then looks up with pleading eyes and says, "My feet really hurt." Limps with class into the first day of first grade.
Meet a clutch of elementary moms under the flagpole -- some are teary -- to craft "ladies of leisure" plan. Every single one of us has some kind of something that must be taken care of before we eat. All disperse like crazy ants to fix dilemmas before planned pig out session.
Deliver Mason's lunch to summer camp.
Breathe. Eat brunch and enjoy the company of some really amazing women.
Bolt to Nordstrom Rack to find shoes for Cooper. That is when I realize I don't know his size. And am now facing the real reason I like to wait until about a month after school starts to buy school shoes -- picked over. Like there are NO shoes. I take that back. There are hundreds of pink, sparkly choices. There are no boys shoes. Actually there is a pair of camouflage crocs in size J1, a pair of navy chuck taylors in 13 1/2, some black running shoes in a 2W, and a pair of plaid vans in a size 1. I buy all of them.
Arrive at school, check in, and hustle out to the playground to find Coop and begin the hurried and sweaty task of helping him try on shoes. Thankfully the chucks fit (I would have shot myself in the eye if those crocs had fit) and Coop releases an overtly grateful sigh of relief. Then I have to find something to cut the danged cable tie holding the two shoes together. Why doesn't my generation carry pocket knives?!?!?!
Breathe. Settle in to a nice chat with a dear friend at Starbucks. She gets me. I love her.
Pick up Mason from summer camp. He acts very happy to see me, so he also clearly gets me. I love him.
Return the three pairs of shoes that didn't work. Cashier at Nordstrom Rack does not get me. I do not love him or his distractingly nasty acne.
Leave Mason with daddy while I try to fit in at least three miles before 4:05 pick up. It's like 90 degrees and 75 percent humidity. I am sweating like a hurricane and arrive at pick up as slick and slimy as a wild beast, but just in time to make a really good end of first day of first grade first impression.
PS -- Maybe I'll tell you how school pictures went. Maybe not. Check back to find out.