Yesterday, my baby graduated as part of the Class of 2011. There were royal blue caps and gowns, red, white and blue tassels, visiting relatives, a slide show and pomp and circumstance, all to send him off into the great future that is bearing down upon him. In a word: kindergarten.
Yes. My son graduated from Preschool.
And it is weird.
For eight years I have been in Mommy Realm, where I was only allowed to work as long as it was some type of job that twisted and curved itself somehow into my fucked up Mommy schedule. So I worked from home off and on, did some freelance writing, then this year actually ventured out during the morning hours to a job OUTSIDE my little Bubble of Home, only to rush away each day at lunch so that I could pick up my little guy from school. I had no schedule except THEIR schedule, left to scrape together what I was able from the perimeter of their busy little lives. It was frustrating and irritating and, frankly, pissed me the hell of a great deal of the time. But after eight years of knowing nothing else, I'm left realizing that as I view my Elementary School Parent future in the fall, I'm not exactly sure where to go from here.
THIS is what I was thinking as I watched my great big, five-year-old accept his diploma. (Well, that and "HOLY SHIT. He's the SHORTEST KID IN HIS CLASS! HOW CAN THAT BE? He's nearly a complete year YOUNGER than some of those kids and he's still TINY. I GAVE BIRTH TO A MIDGET!" -- Side note: I saw an African American midget dressed in camouflage at the grocery store today. My weekend HAS BEEN MADE as that was the most interesting thing I've seen in a while. But I digress.)
My kid is big. I am overwhelmed. And so begins the Summer of 2011.