{chin up} love

Tuesday, April 17, 2012

In this scene we find our heroine standing forlornly in front of heavy steel doors. The doors have been painted a deep blue, a shade that is neither cheerful nor foreboding. We can see the paint has been chipped away and scuffed in many places, indicating they are well used, but for what? We see our heroine shiver, is it apprehension or just the unusual chill that hangs in the air that spring morning? We see that, despite her best efforts, her fringe is still a bit askew and there is ketchup smeared on her cheek. Her face is a mask of calm confidence over a sea of nerves and anxiety. After several more moments, our heroine draws in one last deep, shuddering breath. As she does so, the camera pulls back from the scene and we see, for the first time, that she is not alone. No, she is accompanied by two small, beautiful children. The children, full of vim and vigor, are clearly unaware of their mumma's uneasiness. As she slowly releases that last sweet breath she blinks back a hint of tears and then, clutching tightly to the small hands of her children, leans her shoulder into those heavy doors to open them. As they open she draws deep on her very last ounce of strength and courage to announce to those inside...

"I am here...to register my son for kindergarten."

Ok, so maybe I'm being a wee bit dramatic. But not much!

It was, honestly, the craziest thing.

How, HOW, is my baby old enough to be starting real, regulated school this fall?

Seriously.

And, registering him? Surreal.

The women in the office had me fill in a form and photocopied his birth certificate.

Aaaaand, that. was. it.

I don't know what I expected, but this, for me, was monumental.

Actually, I do know what I expected...I expected them to open their arms to me and hug me tight while telling me how incredible their school is and that they will love P and provide him with the very best while he is there, just as I would.

And then I expected there to be a flashing "Congratulations" sign (to congratulate me for being so brave, obviously) once I finished filling in the form and maybe some balloons and streamers falling from the ceiling. Oh, and maybe those cute kids from Glee could have magically appeared and performed a musical number where P, B and I got swept along in their routine? Pageant smiles and jazz hands?

Instead, I stood at an office counter, filled in a form, thanked the ladies for the information package they provided and went back out the same doors that, only ten minutes earlier, had seemed so symbolic.

The moment we were all loaded safely back into the truck, I phoned my mom on her cell phone. A little background; my mom is a teacher and we only ever phone her cell during the day in case of extreme emergency, so she always answers with a very hesitant "Hello?", partly, I think, because she is bracing herself for bad news and partly because, well, she is answering her phone in front of her class of curious sixth graders.

This call was no different than any other emergency call I've had to make to her...her cautious "Hello?", me on the other end of the line fighting back tears and trying to keep my voice steady. Only, this time it really wasn't an emergency. Still, bless her big heart, my mom took five minutes away from her class to sympathize with me and even get a bit teary herself.

And there you have it folks. My little man, my "Captain Independence", really is growing up.

Below is the picture that I used for P's birth announcement...he was only eleven days old.


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