He's 5!

When the hell did that happen?

J is 5 (well, truth be told, he's 5 and 2 months). That means that kindergarten is looming upon us. That means I have to grow up and be an adult. I don't think I'm ready. Ladies in the PTA scare me. Do you watch Desperate Housewives? Did you see Lynette take on the bully PTA lady?. I'm not as ballsy as Lynette. Sure, I talk a good game. I can puff up with the best of them. But when it comes right down to it. I. Am. A. Wimp.

Kindergarten registration is next Tuesday. Next Tuesday! I'm not ready. I have to have things like his immunization records (he's had three pediatricians in 5 years - any chance, all his records are in one place?) and his birth certificate! What?! I think it's in our safe deposit box.

Because we live in a fairly well-off suburb, I'm assuming that there will be all these perfectly-coiffed and manicured mothers stepping out of their SUVs with all the appropriate paperwork in color-coordinated binders. They'll know exactly which door to enter the school and which hallway to go down to find the right room. They'll already have all the appropriate forms filled out and checks in hand. Me...I'll be a bumbling idiot. I'll forget that I have to pump until about 30 minutes before registration starts. I'll come racing in with breastmilk stains on my shirt and likely, my nursing bra, will be unlatched and one of my colossal breasts will be flailing around in the wind (what a picture, no?). I'll go in the wrong door and get hopelessly lost trying to find the office. I'll probably get detention.

I hear all these horror stories about school. Moms who keep their precious Juniors back because they're sure he can't handle kindergarten. Moms who bully the principals into getting their kid into morning (or afternoon, whichever is better) sessions. Teachers who are scary. I mean, how am I supposed to navigate all that and still be a semi-sane mom?

My parents were very hands-off when it came to school. If I got detention or otherwise in trouble, it was assumed that the teacher was right and I deserved what I got. If I needed help on homework, they pointed me in the direction of the Encyclopaedia Britannica. My mom did help with math but only to explain terms or to check my work. But never...and I mean never...would they have done my homework for me. They had better things to do than their kids' homework. And more importantly, it was my homework, not theirs. They attended parent-teacher conferences and open houses and recitals but I don't think they ever volunteered in our classrooms (a fact that I'm sure I greatly appreciated as I got into junior and senior high school). And my mom could have done so. She was a stay-at-home mom and/or a work-from-home mom for my entire childhood. She just didn't feel it was necessary.

I'd like to be the same way but I'm sensing from friends that have older kids that that's not the way that it is anymore. A colleague routinely, and I mean routinely, does his son's homework for him. The kid is 10 and, I think, should be responsible enough to pack his own backpack up every night and make sure his homework is in there. He doesn't. His parents do it. This colleague told a story one time about how a teacher admonished his son for not having a particular piece of homework in his bag. My colleague was indignant and called the teacher and proceeded to blast her because she should have been yelling at him, not his son, as he packed his son's bags. Um...when is he going to learn personal responsibility?

Anyway. The registration is on Tuesday. I'm quite sure that it will be anti-climactic but still...I'll be up worrying about it until then. (Well, I'll be up but that's probably because we're trying to get A to understand that while we love her dearly, her presence in our bed is really starting to affect our marriage negatively and it's starting to affect my psyche very negatively and we would really appreciate it, please, if she would start sleeping in her own crib. Or at least start out there...I do really enjoy those early morning cuddles and nursing sessions).