For two whole hours last night I was all by myself. The boys went to church for their respective Wednesday night activities, but since choir doesn’t start for me until next week, I stayed home.
Oh sweet freedom, I adore you.
My first order of alone-time business was to call my sister. After we were sufficiently caught up on the events of the last couple of days, I called my friend Laura, who was kind enough not to laugh when I admitted that trying to keep up with what Alex needs for preschool everyday stresses me out just a little bit. I mean, I do pretty well when he only has to take a snack and some juice, but when I have to start rounding up Things That Are Yellow or A Small Green Toy, I get a little twitchy.
And yet somehow I made it through college.
Yesterday was especially nerve-wracking because Alex brought home the Letter Bucket. He was so excited about this special privilege that I’m fairly confident the people six cars behind us heard him yell “MAMA! I HAVE THE LETTER BUCKET!” when I picked him up from school.
But I have to tell you: the sight of said bucket made me hyperventilate just a little bit because, HELLO, have you ever tried to fill up a large bucket with objects that start with the “aaaaah” sound?
I promise you that it’s more difficult than anything I did in graduate school.
In fact, yesterday afternoon I actually tried to convince Alex that a plastic rhinoceros was a plastic antelope, because THEN WE COULD PUT IT IN THE LETTER BUCKET, YOU SEE.
But he would have nothing to do with my attempts to alter the animal kingdom, nor did he buy my argument that perhaps we were looking at the elusive and somewhat rare antenoceros, which, oddly enough, seems to thrive only in the wicker basket habitat of our playroom.
(By the way, in a moment of utter “aaaaah” desperation I tried to put a container of Accent Flavor Enhancer in the Letter Bucket.)
(D convinced me that it might not be a wise idea to send some sort of MSG-laden seasoning to Alex’s school.)
(I still contend that a heaping teaspoon of salty Accent goodness might be just the thing to liven up the four year-olds’ mid-morning snacks.)
Anyway, right as I was about to hang up from my conversation with Laura, I took a look at Alex’s class calendar for this week, and I realized that he needed something from our yard to take to school today. Once I came to grips with the fact that THE LETTER BUCKET, IT IS NOT THE ONLY ASSIGNMENT, I spent the next several seconds wondering if we’re even remotely cut out for this whole pre-kindergarten thing.
Maybe Alex could just live off the land or something.
But my wave of parental inadequacy passed, so I went outside and found a stickish / shrubbish / greenish / limbish item for him to share with his classmates. Once I walked back in the house and crammed the nature-y thing into Alex’s bookbag, I sat down on the sofa and prepared to savor my remaining hour and fifteen minutes of solitude.
Here is a brief list of the activities I contemplated:
1) writing a blog post
2) conducting some extensive, scholarly research for our next podcast
3) reading a book
4) singing a moving rendition of “On My Own” from Les Miserables
5) staring at my roots and wishing they were more blonde
Numbers four and five were especially appealing.
But instead, I chose the following:
1) watching High School Musical 2 for the third or fifty-second time
2) rewinding the basketball dance part – AGAIN AND AGAIN
I have no valid defense for my actions.
I can only tell you that, for whatever reason, High School Musical 2 proved to be a source of great comfort to me. I needed to decompress, to unwind, to relax, and somehow watching young Zac Efron emote teenage angst with great, intentional fervor – well, it was a balm for my aaaaah-ravaged soul.
I was just so grateful.
Or aaaaah-ppreciative, as it were.
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