My oldest baby bird has shown some hesitation about flying.
Last year she threw fits at preschool hoping her Daddy would come fetch her and take her to the farm. He didn’t….and after three long months she gave up.
I told her a month or so ago that if she does that at kindergarten I will lay next to her on the floor and scream because I am not getting what **I** want. (Which, I explained to her was a daughter who doesn’t throw fits) She looked at me wide-eyed “But MAMA! They will see your panties if you laying the floor!” I shrugged, “Well Caroline, they see YOURS. What’s the difference?”. She sighed dramatically.
Later she told me she would definitely not be pitching any fits because she didn’t want me to embarrass her. Hmmm. Note taken.
“Besides Mama. It’s not appropriate to have fits at school”.
I couldn’t agree more.
Lynn has seen some tears the last couple kindergarten drop-offs. Not fits, just tears and associated clingy sad, drama-ey drama. Which is harder on a parent that a fit. Especially a nice, calm, rational and sane parent like my husband.
She is happy at pickup. She is excited the night before. She is thrilled when she wakes up. Morning drop offs have just started being a bit of a problem.
So I took her this morning…and it was obvious…my baby bird needs a little less comfortable nest.
We were a few miles from the school when I started hearing sniveling in the backseat.
I tried to talk to her, sing with her and get her to say a prayer.
Goodness gracious. What am I going to do?
Desperation makes you do strange things, and as I flipped the radio station inspiration struck. It was Coolio and his rap song Gansta’s Paradise. (Yes, I know I’m old)
I leaned my seat back as far as I could. I threw my wrist casually across the steering wheel and started bobbing my head along with the beat. With satisfaction I saw wide little eyes in the back seat stop tearing up and start staring at me in disbelief.
I turned up the radio as loud as my decidedly NOT gangsta car’s radio would go. “Mama! Stop it!” She gasp.
Me cackling “No. I want em all to notice MY baby!” I rolled all the windows down and locked them open.
People were noticing my dressed-nicely-for-work-self acting strange. I’m glad a nice responsible policeman didn’t pull me over for suspected drugs or something. (Disclaimer: I have never used illegal drugs, nor will I ever)
“Look! They can all SEE you! My baby! I’m SO PROUD! Whoo-hoo!” I slowed my slightly smelly mom-car down to about 5mph and bellowed out the window to cars going the other direction “Look at my baby! She’s going to KINDERGARTEN!!!!”
“Woo! Look at Caroline! I am SO PROUD OF HER!” I hollared at a man sitting on his front porch. He waved a confused hand at us. (Sorry about that, stranger man)
Caroline crouched down “Mama!” Her voice was stern and not at all sad “You are embarrassing me! PLEASE STOP!”
Apparently I am indeed crazy because I was somewhat disappointed that my fun was ending.
I lowered the cheap tinny radio and righted my seat.
“Ok Baby. If you need me to cheer you on some more I don’t mind a bit. I’ll even drive around the SCHOOL PARKING LOT so ALL YOUR FRIENDS can see me and you! You think your principal would be impressed??”
Caroline shook her head. “Goodness NO. Please. Just let’s go to school.”
When we went in this morning she seemed rather relieved to arrive at her classroom. And she started right on her coloring page.
As I walked out the door she asked for a kiss. So I grabbed my sweet Caroline and blew rasberries all over her face and neck. For some reason she didn’t want me to linger any longer.
Poor kid. It’s hard to have a Mama that’s crazy.
She should know.