End times

I could probably get all emotional about Monkey's impending entry to kindergarden and thus Real School, if I decided to, but for now I'm okay with it.

"Okay", actually, is how Monkey would describe his own feelings about starting school next Monday (with orientation this Thursday), if you had asked him. He says he's not nervous or worried, though he was a bit earlier in the year when all the members of his nursery-school class seemed to think that kindergarden was a maybe-friendly, maybe-not leopard waiting in the undergrowth to spring out on them at any moment. In preparing the four-to-five-year-olds for things like raising their hand to ask a question, or doing homework (they had a homework week - it was so cute), I think perhaps the teachers didn't stress enough exactly when the big K was going to happen, with the result that Monkey wasn't the only one thinking in February or so that maybe it would be tomorrow, or then after Spring Break, or then as soon as nursery school ended in June.

As soon as I realised what was going on, I steered him up to my big wall calendar and showed him just how many pages needed to be flipped over before we would get to Big-School Time, and all the things that had to happen first. That reassured him. Since then he's been making peace with the idea of being a kindergardener, moving slowly from worried to mildly anxious to pretty much okay.

And in the past couple of days, I've seen something I can only describe as actual excitement in his eyes when he's asked me again how far off the first day of school is. Yesterday morning, inspired by that certain feeling of last-weekiness, I decided that the laundry didn't look much like fun, and we took a hastily conceived trip to the outlet mall instead, to get them new shoes. (Children's clothes and shoes are tax free in Maryland this week. So I sort of had to.) One light-up pair of Star Wars shoes, some new socks and a new t-shirt later, and Monkey is now really quite enthused about school. What's more, he's not wearing his snowboots any more.

And all it cost me was, well, some amount of money, and a chocolate milk in Starbucks, and a portion of my limited reserves of patience, as I sent longing glances in the direction of the Loft and Banana Republic outlets, so cruelly denied to me by my horrible offspring and their need for fripperies like food and sleep.

And now I have a few more notions of things to do with my scant few free hours a week after Labor Day when they're both in school, most of which have more to do with spending money than earning it.