Kindependence Day

It comes as no surprise to anyone that’s ever met me that I parent with great sarcasm and little enthusiasm. Actually, I’m enthusiastic, and I love my kids more than I could ever put into words, but I am not as maternal as most mothers. I need personal space and little chaos. Luckily my oldest child is freaking awesome and wonderful and well behaved and does not fault me for this. This is her a few days before her first day of school, since I actually forgot to take a picture. The beams from heaven are proof if what an angel she is.

She had been in daycare from the tender age of five months, so when the first day of school came, I’ll be quite honest and say that it felt little different. I didn’t put her on the bus because it came at an ungodly hour, so I took her and dropped her off, and it felt really no different.

But real moms can’t say that. Real moms have to sob uncontrollably that their baby is growing up, and if you don’t, you’re a monster. Not wanting to reveal my lack of a sensitivity chip, I fake cried. I admit it, fault me if you will. I did let her see a tear, just for good measure. I distinctly remember my mother bringing me to college and watching her skip away gleefully, whistling “Hit the road, Lack” while the rest of the mothers sobbed loudly. In all honesty, I’m positive that mom would have shed a tear had she known what my GPA was going to be at the end of the semester. And I got to see her sob loudly when she saw my new tattoo one weekend when I came home.

Hubbin and I were talking about The Little Jerk going to kindergarten in a few years, and he nearly cried talking about it. I, again, shrugged and said it was no different while he disagreed. I recounted my experience with my oldest, and he said he would definitely cry when TLJ goes to school, and also that my lack of tears did indeed make me a horrible mother.

In all fairness, I am confident I’ll cry the first time she gets expelled.