Preschool orientation for Wes was today and I think, considering there are three kids I take everywhere I go, that the fact that they were all screaming as we left the building for home, is perfectly understandable. I mean, whose kids don't accidentally kick their brother in the face/have a sudden coming of age crisis in the lobby of their preschool/get their nap forgotten by their harried mother? That could happen to anybody, right?
We left the house with great enthusiasm. Charlie bounced out to the car, which was in the driveway instead of the garage because the garage door is not working (I can't imagine why), gleefully climbed into the way-back and buckled his seat belt. When I commented about the big, grown up boy he was being, he said "I am just so excited to meet my teacher!!" Then I had to tell him that we would be meeting Wes's teacher and that we wouldn't meet his teacher until tomorrow. You can imagine how that news was received.
All was forgotten once we reached the preschool, miraculously on time I might add, and we all climbed over each other and out of the car and bounced merrily into the school where Wes immediately ran to his teacher from last year, gave her a huge hug, and then walked into his old classroom, oblivious to the fact that he was twelve inches taller than the next tallest kid in there.
He was not so chipper and bouncy when they handed him back over the top of the dutch door. He melted into my body, completely heartbroken. It was a bad scene you guys. I tried to get him excited about meeting his new teacher, but he refused to take his face out of my shoulder. Fantastic.
As we made our way down the hall to Wes's! New! Room!, me pushing the temperamental stroller with one hand in wild zig-zags slamming into one wall then the other, Wes slung over my shoulder, Charlie getting distracted by the water fountain and the potty and the bulletin boards, I was performing a ritual of intercessory prayer for Wes.
"Dear just and loving God, please do not let this child wet his pants in the next twenty-five minutes, Amen." Prayer works, you guys.
So we finally made it down the long, LONG hallway to the classroom, waited behind some other parents, and somehow made it into the classroom only five minutes late and also tear- and urine-free. Wes was still clinging to my chest, but I figured I could coax him down with a dump truck or some PlayDoh once we got inside.
Then his teacher looked at me curiously and told me that the M-W-F kids' orientation was at TEN THIRTY, not NINE THIRTY.
OH MY GOODNESS.
Ha ha ha! Silly me! I must have gotten mixed up with Charlie's orientation tomorrow! We'll just go out to the playground and come back!
And then we got in the car to get breakfast tacos. Because I had not mentally prepared for that extra hour of public supervision. At least part of that hour needed to be spent with everyone strapped into their carseats.
And the taco place only had one of the tacos I usually get for the kids. And it was ten minutes until the other, non-drive-through, taco place stopped serving breakfast. So Wes got the last bean and cheese taco and Charlie and I each had a vegan black bean, avocado, and pico taco instead. Thank goodness the pico wasn't spicy. What was spicy, however, was the three tablespoons of salsa Charlie dumped onto his as soon as we sat down at the picnic table back at the school. I switched with him and we managed to get through breakfast without any further drama.
When we got to the orientation part, which was at TEN THIRTY, Wes was covered in black beans and mud, but it was lovely, with Charlie and Wes playing nicely with toys, participating in "circle time", and coloring at the table. Towards the end James was a little fussy and back-archy, but I knew he was tired and it was fairly manageable.
Then we had to stop by Charlie's old class on the way out. And James LOST it. Crying, arching, refusing to go into the stroller. It was special. He calmed down on the way out just in time for Wes to run back into his old room AGAIN and begin playing with his favorite toy from last year. And then James started crying again. And then Wes was crying because they were picking him up and giving him back to me, again. And then Wes accidentally kicked Charlie in the nose as I picked him up. And then, like some really loud, frustrating fireworks grand finale from hell, all three children were crying hysterically at the same time!
So I laughed like a crazy person, slung my screaming four-year old over my shoulder and struggled back to the car, asking friends sarcastically, "So, do you guys have lunch plans?" Because while I wanted the number eight combo at Chick-fil-A very badly, I had just eaten a breakfast taco and our plans included going home and locking the door until next week when I can DROP EVERYBODY OFF and LEAVE.