It started about a week ago. I was at work, and I saw a baby. I started weeping (on the inside of course, because I am a professional...barista). I figured it was some fluke, some weird maternal urge, ten years too late. I ignored it. And then I saw a pumpkin spice latte. And I teared up a bit. I wasn't
too alarmed. After all, I hate pumpkin spice lattes and all that they/their "PSL" fans stand for. But still. Tears? Who
cries about a latte? (A crazed PSL fanatic last year, when she discovered they were back early, that's who). Nevertheless, it was probably an isolated incident, I thought. But then I saw a scone...and I cried. I was washing dishes and some of the delicate little soap bubbles popped...tears. I swept up a muffin crumb and threw it away...and it was gone...forever. I had to go into the back room and pull myself together. I couldn't let anyone see bubbles, and pastries, and lattes (and then ice cubes, and napkins, and the sound of birds, and the voices of children, and the wind, and a trash bin) reduce me to a puddle of weeping. What was going ON? Did I really just hate pumpkin spice
that much? Had I not been getting enough sleep? Did I need to be admitted to a mental institution?
But then I remembered.
This happens every single year. I start crying when I see commercials, leaves blow in the wind, when sparrows look at me funny. Every single year, right around the end of summer, I turn into an emotional basketcase. Every single year, other parents are rejoicing, relishing the prospect of freedom from the siblings bickering, the constant noise, and the endless cries of "I'm BO-O-ORED!" And every single year, I start to rejoice, and then all of the sudden I find myself, stroking the hair/cheeks of my children as they sleep like some creepy stalker, whispering to them about how much I love them (also like some creepy stalker), and crying like a fool.
Every single year, at the end of summer, for one week only...I become sentimental.
I am not a fan of this state of existence. Oh yeah, I'm sensitive, and squishy, and emotional, and easily traumatized all year round, but not sentimental. Never sentimental. I've built up quite the arsenal of defense mechanisms against that nonsense, thankyouverymuch. So it's hard to recognize at first. And I think I've gone off my rocker. Because I'm laying on the floor of my living room weeping because those crayons in the pile of school supplies smell so new. And there are less crayons than there were last year. And more pencils. And ohmygoshtimepassessoquickly. Sob.
 |
The Anarchist wept the first time the Dictator boarded a bus.
"I very miss the Dictator." The Anarchist is pretty much
always sentimental. |
I guess all of the school-supply-specific feelings are what tipped me off this year. Even I don't generally cry about spiral notebooks.
But I finally did identify the source of all these horrific feelings. And I addressed them. And I worked through them, like any healthy, emotionally mature adult would. And I was fine.
I was stable and okay enough to reassure the Anarchist that no one at her new school would hate her for "being ugly," or would punch her in the face, or steal her boyfriend. And that, yes, the classroom caterpillars probably would still be pooping, which is apparently the highlight of third grade, which was enough reassurance to get her to sleep last night.
I was stable-ish enough to take a deep breath and just let the Dictator wear hideous, friend-repelling socks with shoes that should always remain sockless on her first day (after putting up a fight, of course...I'm very passionate about footwear).
But mostly, I was distracted from becoming a ball of sentimental nonsense on my children's first day by the terrifying prospect of having to enter the new school building/office, drop off allergy forms (that I probably should have dropped off weeks ago), and (gasp!) talk to adults. I had hoped I could pawn this responsibility off on the Bureaucrat. After all, forms and offices are very Bureaucratty things. They're practically part of his job description. But no. The Bureaucrat wanted to be all reasonable and force me to face my fears. And force me to be an adult. And also force me to drop off forms because he really didn't feel like doing it. Whatever. At least I was now shaking in terror instead of crying in a sentimental heap
So, after snapping a pic of my adorable children in their first day attire (the Dictator in all owls and those hideous socks, the Anarchist in "my cute outfit and my cutest ponytail so that my boyfriend will see it, because that's the reason I am going to school"), I donned my mommest mom outfit of khaki shorts and an Ann Taylor top (something that really says, "I swear I'm an adult, and I don't normally forget to turn in forms until the first day of school, it's just that I'm so responsible, that I'm full of responsibilities, all of them child related, of course, because look, khaki shorts. Also, I will probably join the PTO, volunteer for everything, and generally be a model parent. No. Those forms aren't wrinkled. They are purposefully folded. And no, that wasn't a tampon and an old sock you just saw fall out of my purse. They couldn't have been. Because I'm wearing khakis), and strode purposefully to the school building.
 |
All owls. And those socks. And a boyfriend-pleasing
ponytail/skirt combo. Sigh. |
I helped the Anarchist find her classroom, tactfully avoided getting anywhere near the Dictator's classroom (because apparently, moms are more embarrassing than bad sock/shoe combinations), and acted like a total, composed grown up as I faced down my social anxiety and talked to office-y adults.
"Here. I brought these allergy medication forms to you at the last minute on purpose. Because I totally intended to do things this way. Because khaki shorts. And I'm professional. See how professional I am? I'm sure you think I work in an office of something. Just like you. So I'm not even acting scared at all. And also, I'm not even an emotional basketcase. Because I cried my last tear over pencil sharpeners and fluttering leaves days ago. Just here to do mature, adult, thing/kid dropping off stuff. Totally devoid of extraneous emotions. Just like everyone else. Thanks. I appreciate it. Have a great day."
And then I breathed a sigh of relief.
And I stepped out into the school hallway.
And I wept.
And all the crying kindergarteners took a brief pause from their separation anxiety to stare at the crazy lady. And I decided that I didn't care.
 |
| Having all the feelings...despite my power-khakis. |
Because here's the thing. I don't think it's reasonable to expect to savor every moment. Life is full of lots of reality, and it's not fair to beat ourselves up for not reveling in every waking second of parenthood. But now and then, there are times when you notice. When time does stand still for a second. When the big, stoic, fifth grader comes into your room in the middle of the night with her arms full of all her stuffed animals, half asleep, and says, "Mommy, I'm scared. I had a bad dream." And you haven't heard those words in years. And you realize you might never hear them again. And you gather her up, and all her stuffed animals with her, and you hold her in your arms, and you're late for work, and you don't care. Because this is one of those times when you realize how precious it is and how fast it goes, and you can be a little sentimental. And you can hold onto that moment for just one second more. Or when the third grader in the line to go into school tells you that you can leave if you want, because she's not scared anymore (because caterpillar poop makes all things well), but that you can also stay if you want. Ya know...for your own benefit. And then she hugs you, but she holds on so hard with her little fingers, just like she did her first day of preschool. And you feel how fast it all goes, and how beautiful it all is. And so maybe being sentimental isn't the very worst thing. Maybe it's just slowing down a little and noticing. And maybe that's okay.
Maybe crying in power-khakis alone in an elementary school hallway is a totally normal thing that all emotionally healthy parents do. If it isn't please don't tell me. I've totally made peace with all of this, and I and my khaki shorts would like to keep it that way.
Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go cry into a pumpkin spice latte while I watch sad soap bubbles pop, and think about how fleeting it all is.
Happy first day of school.
