The Biggest Girl in the World

Here she is, riding to school with her best friend and a bunch of her classmates. As she rode away, The Boy stood for a moment in disbelief. And then he asked if we could go home and watch Thomas.

Epispurious

Actual meal offerings, courtesy of the County Schools' Office of Food and Nutrition Services:

Teriyaki Chicken Nuggets w/Chicken Flavored Rice (Double your "chicken flavor," and double your fun! Dowse those nuggets in some soy sauce, baby, and your kid may as well be in Japan!)

Deviled Egg Salad Box w/Animal Crackers (You can almost hear the kids' collective mmmmmm . . . . )

Fish Hoagie (Now with more bones!)

Tortilla Cheese Rolls (Mysterious, yes, but certified "meatless"!)

Diced Turkey and Gravy over Sliced Bread (Because nothing says home-cookin' quite like diced!)

Chef Salad w/Hard Pretzels (It's a salad! With pretzels!)

Taco Salad w/Baked Doritos (It's a salad! With Doritos!)

Mozzarella Dippers (Sure, they're nothing more than deep-fried cheese, and sure, we're stretching things a little (Ha! Get it! 'Cause, you know, it's mozzarella!) by calling them an "entree," but hey, you guys, they're certified "meatless"!)

And finally, for breakfast, your child can choose from any of the following:

Pop Tart
Flapstick (contains pork)
String Cheese
Power Wheel
Breakfast Bun
Goldfish Grahams
and--holy shit--my personal favorite:
Egg Tac-Go

Go ahead now and wipe the saliva from your keyboard. And you can thank me later for the menu ideas!

First Day

On her first day, I gave her a watch. An apple watch, to help her count the hours until she saw me again. I didn't tell her that bit about counting the hours, but Jesus, that's exactly what I thought. She put it on, along with her new green dress, and jumped like a maniac all over her bed. She was not nervous; she was not fearful. And the only hours that she was counting were those between that moment and the start of school.

Before we left, she made her teacher a necklace. And she practiced her adding, so she could show off.

In the classroom, she gave the teacher the necklace. The teacher put it on. Then she and some classmates drew their self-portraits before settling in with some Lincoln Logs.

Outside, she waited for her new friend, Chiara, and they skipped together along the sidewalk.

I didn't cry. But I bought a shitload of doughnuts.

A Nest Story

He awakes early, snuggles in, assures me that I'm safe from ghosts and pelicans. He sniffs me--deeply, strangely--and sighs. "What do you smell?" I ask him sleepily. "I smell Mama," he purrs, stroking my stomach, "and Mama smells sooo good."

How to Induce Sobbing in the Days Preceding Kindergarten, in Five Easy Steps

1. Go to a playground dedicated to the memory of a child who died while leaving the circus. Read the plaque from her mommy and daddy, the one on which they've written how much they miss her, as your own children giggle and play.

2. Drive, somewhat accidentally, past your mother's grave.

3. Watch the Olympics, or, more specifically, the parents of the Olympians. See them as they cheer and sob, in awe of their children's accomplishments.

4. Dream, as you're sleeping in a caboose on a lonely mountaintop, that something terrible has happened to one of your children.

5. Misplace, even for a second, the first of your daughter's two lost teeth.

Squish

The sadness, finally, is setting in. It took nearly all summer and a lot of denial, but once again, my heart is heavy, as once again, we prepare for kindergarten.

And it's not because I think she's not ready, or even, for that matter, because I think I'm not ready. Last year, when I yanked her out of "early enrollment," I knew in my heart that it wasn't our time. But this year? This year, I'm just a clingy nutjob who doesn't want to let go of her baby.

Yet weirdly, she's been driving me crazy, to the point that you'd think I'd be glad for the separation. But I'm not. Even when she's screaming at me, when she's spitting, when her head is spinning--Exorcist-style--all the way around on her shoulders, I'm thinking of how much I'm going to miss her. Which is confusing. And exhausting. And makes me turn to the Olympics for solace.

I can see that she is anxious, that she, too, is grieving a little, although she doesn't ever say so. Why else would she scream, for the first time, "you hate me!"? Why else would she sob at the sight of a cricket?

Everything will be fine, I know. Kindergarten, after all, isn't the army, and she'll only be just up the road.

And this is her time. And her place. It is.

It's just that I still see her as this:

!

So I tried to post my first video this morning. And, as you can see, it didn't work out, which is fine, really--I mean, I only spent, like, a thousand fucking hours waiting for the fucking thing to upload--except that now I have to actually describe my vacation. With words. With nouns and verbs and adjectives and shit. With commas, periods and semi-colons. And how about that dash? Who doesn't love the dash? The dash--with its cute little front teeth or whatever--is among my punctuation favorites. And brackets? Who the fuck even uses brackets, unless you're doing algebra or something. Seriously, think for a minute: when's the last time you made good use of brackets? Never, I'm betting, and that's even if you've been doing algebra. Because algebra, when you get right down to it, blows. Not as much as fucking trigonometry, granted, but that's like saying Mussolini wasn't quite as bad as Hitler. Some kind of fucking comparison, huh? Although, thinking back to college, where--surprise, surprise--(Hey, look, there's my beloved dash! Right here with my equally beloved parentheses, who (sorry, dudes) I neglected to even mention in my first discussion of punctuation. I'm such an ass!) I had to take a remedial math course, algebra wasn't all that bad. In fact, at times, I kind of enjoyed it. Which gives you a greater idea, I think, of just how complex and conflicted I actually am. Something else that I enjoy: flossing to the point of agony. Am I alone here? Oh, and I enjoy colons. Not talking about the large intestine now, although that--let's face it--is pretty useful; no, I'm back to my love of punctuation. Because I really, really do love punctuation. Except, of course, for the aforementioned brackets, and, in all but very few cases, the fucking exclamation point. It's cliched, I guess, to even get into the overuse of the exclamation point, but you all know what I'm talking about. Unless! you're! trying! to! sell! maxi-pads! or! something!, you don't have much need for that much exclamation. I mean, sure, it's useful from time to time, but let us not get fucking nuts! And speaking of nuts, the summer is almost over, and The Girl is almost in kindergarten, and The Boy is mere weeks from starting preschool. And I have to buy school supplies and get my head around (an expression I fucking detest, by the way) the fact that our happy, relaxed routine is about to change. Sigh. Which brings me back to our vacations--our lovely, all-too-short vacations--which I'm now too tired to describe.

Let's see if I can do it in twenty-five words:

Tent. Canoe. Terror. Ponies. Marshmallows. Lightning. Rockfish. River. Mullets. Traffic. Mountains. Coughing. See-saw. Cramps. Thunder. Rhododendrons. Scabs. Smoke. Cinders. Caboose. Loneliness. Splendor. Whistle. Mice. Switchbacks.

There. That about does it. Check back later for that fucking video.

Degrees

Jen and Katie and Kelly and I are upstairs in Kelly's bedroom. It's the summer of '84, the summer of Footloose, and Kelly has a picture of Kevin Bacon on her dresser. Kelly says she wants to fuck Kevin Bacon, that she wants to take him between her legs. Katie laughs. "Like you'd know what to do with him", she says, "like he'd ever fuck such a little baby." "I'm not a baby," Kelly says, "and I could drive him fucking crazy." "Oh, please," Katie sighs, "just look at you." We're all twelve, all flat-chested, all heady from our near-constant use of profanity. Kelly, whose parents are watching tennis in the basement, is mere weeks from finding out that she's moving to Denver, mere days from discovering her mother with her uncle, and mere hours from starting her period. Her face is flushed and her eyes are broken bottles. She is tugging at the tassels of her moccasins. Katie, meanwhile, is leaning against the bookcase. Last night she made out with Matt Henkey, and now she's electric, fiery, vicious. Jen and I, quiet, pretending to flip through a Teen Beat, will not get involved. "All you need to do, Kel," Katie whispers, "to get a real guy, is just lose some fucking weight." And then she's squeezing Kelly's cheeks, really squeezing them, and I feel like I'm going to drown. And when Kelly rips open her shirt and screams, sobbing, "look how much bigger mine are than yours," it is such a relief, the steam from a pot I didn't even know was boiling.

Poisoning Your Mind

So The Girl has discovered Mr. Yuk. And while she understands, at least on the surface, that he exists to protect her, she has some questions about him that I cannot answer. Perhaps you, my poison-loathing friends, can help us.

1. The Mr. Yuk songs opens with "Mr. Yuk is mean/Mr. Yuk is green." While it's bloody fucking obvious that he is green, is he really mean? He's associated with poison, of course, and poison is bad, but isn't his job to steer kids away from the poison? And if he's actively steering kids away from the poison, how is he being mean? Is it because kids desperately want the poison, and they're pissed because Mr. Yuk is constantly thwarting their efforts? I don't get it. And neither does The Girl, apparently, because she keeps asking, "But is Mr. Yuk mean? Is he?" And I don't know how to answer.

2. Also, The Girl wants to know where to get Mr. Yuk stickers, because she'd really like to have some. "The thing is, Mom," she admits, "I don't really want to put them on toilet bowl cleaner or anything. I want to stick them on your shirt, and then it'll be like you are poison." Such a rebel, this girl. But seriously, can't a kid be sent to juvi for misrepresenting poison? Will a jury understand that she was just messing around, that she thought it was funny to label me dangerous?

3. Why is Mr. Yuk green?

4. What really happens when you drink poison?

5. Does Mr. Yuk have a family?

6. And now for this question, which is my own: don't you find the "Mr. Yuk" lyrics to be, well, a little forced? "Get to know his face/in each and every place"? I mean, really. Couldn't they do a wee bit better than that?

Anyway, as you can see, we need your help. Give us your thoughts on Mr. Yuk.

What NOT to Do with the Dress-Up Stuff at Preschool

Having played in the basement for almost an hour, the kids appear in their dress-up clothes. The Girl is dressed as a princess, while The Boy--except for one peculiar accessory--isn't dressed as anything at all.

Mom (to The Boy): Why are you wearing that ring on your penis?
The Boy (spinning theatrically): Because I want to look beautiful!