During school shopping for new clothes, Big Kid casually announced that he'd decided to go to the public middle school.
He switched to a charter school last year and had assured me all along that he intended to finish middle school there, since he prefers the smaller environment and the kids at the public school smoke "The Marijuana." (I laughed so hard my ribs hurt as soon as it was safe to do so.)
I pressed him about what made him change his mind and he is pretty vague about answering but says he wants the typical middle school experience. Although Big Kid in middle school is a terrifying thought, I'm also relieved; the charter school was disorganized, had no bus service and middle school is a great place to practice awkwardness before moving on to high school. I think the later starting time and the middle school kids who hang out at our local Starbucks may have influenced him, but I'm going to let it ride.
We're going to do this.
I feel good about it.
I wonder if those public school kids can hook me up with "The Marijuana."
Just kidding. But maybe a little for the first day since we all know I will be in the fetal position crying, despite all of this feeling good about it. And then the second day so I can relax a bit. And then the third day because why not go for a week at that point?
Is having big kids a medical condition? It should be.
What I'm really having a heart attack about is little kid going into third grade. What the hell? I know it's not a typical milestone like middle school but that's my tiny, bald, fuzzy-headed, fat baby parasite and third graders are very big. There is simply not a chance he could be an 8-year-old in a few short weeks. This completely snuck up on me -- I guess in worrying about Big Kid's rapid growth, I took solace in still having a baby and forgot to notice that I don't. The thought of having a third grader and a middle schooler makes my stomach drop.
It's scary because it had to be some sort of time travel trick. I'm officially the mom of kids who are so big that moms of little kids hate us upon sight at play areas. When it was just yesterday that I was hating the moms of those impossibly big kids for letting those gigantic jerks around my precious little snowflakes at play areas.
So I'm gathering paperwork for registration and assisting in elective selection (chorus, really?) and torn between obsessing over this new turn of events and refusing to think about any of it whatsoever, which explains why I'll be waiting for the last minute to buy school supplies.