my baby goes to school

little man. ready for school.
(in front of my newly planted urban
garden which i will blog about shortly)

Ok. So its not "real" school. Its a three hour nature immersion program, run out of a woman's home, once a week. But, this is the first time we have sent him off to a program like this - no sister, no grandma, no cousins. Just his little self, and his giant backpack, filled with the 71 items we were told he HAD to bring with him for this summer-long once-a-week adventure (I felt like I was outfitting a child for summer camp, walking around REI with a dazed look, spending what felt like a small fortune with the "gear list" in hand.)

He popped out of bed at approximately 5:45AM, declaring it was SCHOOL DAY! (Dada got up with him, PHEW) Soon we were packing up into the car. He explained to little miss the whole way there that he was going to school, not her. She pouted. "NO, my 'COOL TOO!" He finally soothed her by holding her hand the rest of the way there.

When we dropped him off, little miss and I got out and chatted with the teacher, he smiled and happily talked about his giant backpack and then happily waved goodbye when it was time to leave. For the record, I did not cry.

Little miss started fake crying for "'COOL TOO" so we stopped and got pastries (and coffee) which perked her up and then ran errands all morning.

As I drove to pick him up I imagined all sorts of scenarios. He peed his pants and was embarrassed. He mouthed off to the teacher. He shoved a little kid into the lake. He bawled for me when I left. I should've called to check on him! I should've texted!

I drove faster and faster, getting lost in my hurry and cursing at the red lights. (Luckily little miss had fallen asleep!)

I arrived to find a happy little man in wet shorts (from wading in the lake), swinging on the swings, rock collection in hand, full of stories about monarch "capatillers" and egrets and dead toads ("...with ants coming out of its mouth mom!!")

The teacher declared him a "darling sweet boy" (yes, he is, MOST days) and we packed up his gear and drove away.

Heading home, we passed by a McDonalds and he asked (fine, he whined, hard core) for a Happy Meal. Smiling at the irony of the "organic snack" we paid for him to consume that morning I happily gave in to the whining. Sweet tea and a cheeseburger sounded good anyway.

We ate our food in the parking lot, little miss still asleep, as he told me more about his morning and I tried not to feel teary eyed at his grown up little self and at how all too quickly I will be hearing stories about "real" school, and bus rides, and soccer practice, and then camp, and sleepovers, and first jobs, and first crushes, and AP classes and college selection and.....

OH MY LORD MY BABY IS GETTING TOO BIG.

Okay. Deep breathing.

I want to gather them both under my wings, declare them off limits to the world and move to my goat farming yurt to keep them to myself forever. These ones? NO. These ones are MINE.

Can I? Please?