Jack & Luke – coverboys

Well, Mr. Big Stuff is now taking the fat, yellow ride to his huge new school. The transition to Kindergarten, as a humongous milestone event in parenthood, seemed to center around us for a while. Not in that obnoxious manner that some parents parade around with, mind you (Ugh, I’ve been school shopping since July – Nordstrom’s, Bloomies, Hanna Andersen – and I just can’t find the right huaraches to go with Trevor’s madras pants.) But there was a tendency to be focused on our feelings about it all. Most of it ran between wistful happiness and full on excitement –
It’s amazing that our little guy’s gonna be taking the bus but I really miss it when he was chubby little meatball struggling to lift his giant head off the mattress…or Hey Jack, you’re going to Kindergarten! Are you excited? Are ya? Huh? Are you?… You’ll be riding the bus!!! Are ya excited? Are ya excited? Are ya excited? Are ya excited? Are ya excited? Huh? Huh? Yeaaaaahhh, I’ll bet you’re excited.
There was also the sensation of impending inconvenience; gotta get Elsie to preschool, keep Jack busy in the a.m., get him to the noon bus, pick up Elsie, keep her busy, retrieve Jack, feed, pack snacks, become fascist tooth-brushing overseer, get to gym somewhere in all of that and stop being so freaking fat, etc. And worst of all, the dread of increased interactions with other parents, many of whom appear deeply convinced that of all the children in their brat’s class theirs is the only one with parents who have a kid in school. This became obvious during Jack’s orientation when one grimacing mom began pushing the tiny chairs away from the circle we were supposed sit in to hear school deets from Jack’s teacher. Needed additional room for her cellulite to throb, I’d say. And only a few minutes earlier we came damn close to a head-on collision with a lady who came nearly two-wheeled her Volvo around a row of cars as we were looking for a parking space. And she had a massive dopey smile on her dangerous dipshit head! What the hell was that? Not only was she driving against the big arrows painted on the pavement, it was a K thru 2 parking lot for fuck’s sake! There were kids around who were barely taller than headlights but as she was locked in a “singularity in the universe” frame of mind the only thing that mattered was finding a slot to put her car. Groovy. I’d thought that imbecile behavior was restricted to the novice/self-absorbed parents of Elsie’s preschool-mates. Drop-offs & Pick-up’s with her are already a twice daily ratchet to hypertension as I stifle the desire to leap out of my wagon and pummel parking lot twats and driveway louts. Now it became clear that the madness would never cease and I’ll probably die of bursting cerebral arteries in a car lot by the time Jacko hits second grade.

But then it finally arrives: the day your kid puts on the new duds, his spankin’ skate shoes with the bicolor cephalopod laces, slings a backpack over his broadening(but forever so little..) shoulders and makes for the bus stop. It’s still all about us: bellies knot up, eyes start feeling a wee bit hot and watery (the air was extra itchy that day, you see) and you notice that you are way more nervous about this first bus ride than your son is. Jack was beaming, hanging with his buddy Luke and completely stoked to be in his new clothes rather than his favorite pair of battered camo shorts. The bus came, the boys hopped on it with shit-eatin’ grins and off they went.

Tomorrow: Jack ain’t loving it anymore….