Wednesday, August 18, 2010

Abject terror

I greet the new school year with relief that my two youngest will be returning to the halls of academia and terror that my oldest will be going. . . back . . . to . . . school.
Da da dum!
It's a lovely quandary designed to twist me tighter than a pretzel or tighter that panties shoved up my crack due to a well done wedgie. (we had a certain little girl who was very mad because she received her first wedgie tonight. But I digress.)
I'm excited because the heathens love school (my far superior DNA) and because Bug has meltdowns at school that remind me of Godzilla trying to level Tokyo (his dad's defective DNA.)
I'm terrified because we have left the relative safety of his old school, which knew him, knew how to handle him, knew when to call us and when to ride it out, to a new school, a new teacher, and a new system that Bug doesn't know.
Chances are it's gonna be ugly.
Damned ugly.
Get drunk, turn out the lights and still close your eyes ugly.
So I am girding my loins (as soon as I find them after birthing three monsters) and preparing to enter the fray. I will be standing in the line of fire while The Man takes the kids and runs. He's smart enough after fifteen years to know when to duck and cover.
And he knows to cover his ass in case I decide to take a bite out of it for something I am utterly sure is his fault. (How can it not be after years on a nuclear boat? His genetic material, his swimmers, were doomed before they ever met my superior eggs. No wonder Bug has a few quirks.)
I"m gearing up for a fight I hope never happens, for meetings I know will, and for a year that will be so full of ups and downs I'm taking stock in barf bags.
And, as a spew chunks, I will still love my son with a ferocity that makers me takes the slings and arrows directed at him, that makes me weep for the ones I miss, and that makes me get up to do it all over again the next day.

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