Date: September something
Time: 8:07 am
Location: Three mile stretch from home to Daughter’s preschool
What a beautiful day. This morning schedule is really working out well. Load up the car with Daughter’s backpack. Wait for bus with Son and Daughter. Keep Son from running into street to chase soccer ball that neighbor kid brings to kick around each morning.
Daughter seems adjusting to preschool. Well, we lose about five minutes getting into the minivan each morning as she climbs into the front seat and looks for my candy stash. Or digs in my purse for Dentyne. Or Altoids. Then, of course, I have to ask for the tenth time if she needs to pee before school. Like she’d say yes. Like she ever actually wants to go to the bathroom. When is she actually going to want to go ALL the time? Am I manhandling her by picking her up and holding her down on the seat? Is this actually ‘potty trained?’
Well, she seems to be going in school. Well, not really. She’s usually wet when I pick her up. Why can’t they check? Oh, I guess it’s not a good idea for the teachers to feel her underpants frequently like I do. Yeah, we kind of taught her not to let anyone touch her there. Well, I’ll just have to work on her telling them she’s wet and needs dry undies.
“Honey, make sure to tell your teachers if you have an accident and need to change your pants.”
“Mommy, can you put on the fast song then the slow song?”
Which one is that? Revolution then Hey Jude? I have no idea. Maybe I can sneak in some WFUV.
There goes her leg again. Ever since school started she’s had this nervous leg thing. Kicking it up and down. She does it at breakfast, in the car. Is she anxious about preschool? It’s her first time going. Maybe the class is too big. It’s such an adjustment for her. The poor thing.
She doesn’t really know anybody yet. Well, she seems to be making friends with that nice girl. And she doesn’t refuse to get out of the car. Gives me that little weird, tight lipped smile when the teacher takes her hand. That’s just her shy smile. She’ll get over it.
Oh, maybe I shouldn’t have put her in for five days! The hours are too long. Her little three year old body and brain are stressed. Look, she’s kicking both legs now! This is terrible.
Her uncle A. used to have a nervous leg habit. He’d jitter his leg all the time. Maybe it’s just a genetic thing. She’s fine.
My anxiety has always come out in my body. In college it was hives on my arms then my legs. In my twenties, I started the nervous eye twitch when work got crazy. Oh, and yeah, I used to get the dry heaves when I’d get to work. Bad memory. Now, I just stare at the ceiling from two to four am.
Okay, calm down. There, one leg stopped. Maybe she’s just bopping to the music. Look, here’s the car line for drop off. Why do all these parents come ten minutes before the drop off starts? Where are they off to that’s so important? I need to stop at Peter’s and buy some bananas then get back to the house for a call.
Better turn off the car while I’m sitting here. I’m practically in front of the library next to the school where there’s a prominently displayed no idling sign. It’s green and says “For our children…” with a picture of a little car with smoke coming out of its tailpipe. Oh, look, there’s the librarian in her little ‘green’ car. Who’s going to catch me if I idle anyway? Is the librarian going to give me a ticket?
Daughter’s legs have picked up again. Oh, geez, poor thing. Okay, now they’ve started to take kids out of cars. Wait, there’s a hold up. Oh, that poor kid. His poor Mom. He’s screaming his head off. Really kicking his legs. Boy, he really doesn’t want to go.
“Honey, I love you.”
It could be worse.