The Return of the Loony Bin

Sending your youngest off to kindergarten is like watching them age a few years all in the span of 24 hours.  Having your eldest be the one holding her hand and watching out for her at school jumps his level of maturity into a whole new realm as well.  Having both things happen in the span of one week gave me a temporary delusion that my kids are all now grown up.  For some reason, I got to thinking that perhaps I now live in a house with sane, independent individuals who have similar, rational thought processes like my own.

It lasted only a few days but today I was reminded of the fact that I do, in fact, still live in a loony bin.

Mia, on her second day of school, was asked to bring 4 things that represent her into school in a paper bag.  She set right to work on this and picked out four rather random, entirely purple yet completely endearing items.  I PROBABLY would have picked things a bit differently but hey -- little miss “I’m now independent” was having NONE of my suggestions.  And who was I to interfere with her very first bit of junior kindergarten homework?

So off she went with a plastic purple butterfly, her deformed dollar store baby doll with the head that is falling off, her soccer metal and a random piece of (you got it) purple artwork.

When I asked her innocently how her “presentation” had gone today she very matter-of-factly told me that it was just FINE.  She then proceeded to forget every single detail of it. 

“What did the teacher say?”

I don’t remember.

“Did they ask you questions about your things?”

            I forget

“Did everyone like your items?”

            Nonchalant shoulder shrug

The only thing she was adamant about was the fact that I was NOT allowed to empty her things from this brown paper bag.

“Why not?” I asked, trying to empty it anyways, “BECAUSE. “ She said, rolling her eyes at me, “It has to STAY in my backpack EVERY DAY.  ALL YEAR LONG.”

OH.  But of course.

“Did your teacher tell you that?”

She faltered for a half second before admitting that she didn’t EXACTLY remember but she was PRETTY SURE.  I think a kindergartener’s “pretty sure” is code word for “I give up.  I have no idea what I’m talking about.”

I some how convinced her to take her things back to her room and was in the midst of putting things away when she took a sudden sympathetic interest in her poor little dollar store baby with the head that was falling off.

“Poor baby,” she said rocking her, “Do you want to sleep with mommy tonight?”

I engaged her a bit in this sweet moment of lovely maternal delusionment and somehow we got onto the topic of babies and Mia playfully told me that this baby actually belonged to “Mr. O” (Mr. O is her bus driver)

“OH,” I said curiously, “Do you think Mr. O has a baby?”

She ROARED on the floor with laughter.

“Mommy…I said MR. O!!!!  You know…the BUS DRIVER!!!!”

Ya. I KNEW that.

“No…Mommy…SERIOUSLY” she said, “I was making a JOKE.”

I asked her to clarify why Mr. O’s parental status seemed SO hilariously absurd to her.

“BECAUSE!” she said, still enjoying the ludicrousness of our conversation, “He’s the BUS DRIVER!”

Blank stare.   I was CLEARLY not getting the joke.

Eventually she came out with the obvious punch line

“Bus drivers can’t have BABIES!!!!”

“Why not?”

“Because…” she said with the laughter dying out of her smile…”Because…well…they just CAN’T Mommy…because they don’t ever go HOME!”

And just like that the conversation was over and the little dollar store baby whose head is falling off was whipped out of my humourless arms.

Just when you think you couldn’t be even more out of the loop with your children’s vantage point on the world, I was recounting this story later to Toby and Rob and Toby ROARED with laughter.

“Oh, Mia…” that’s so silly “ he said with the know all of an 80 year old man, “Mr. O DEFINITELY goes home.  I know that for a FACT.”

I wasn’t actually asking for any factual proof that the bus driver wasn’t homeless but I got some anyways,

“He HAS to go home because I have noticed…” and here his detective voice got serious and earnest, “I have noticed that he doesn’t have a WATERBOTTLE on the bus.  And APPARENTLY you have to have water EVERY THREE DAYS or else you DIE.  So Mr. O obviously DOES go home at least once every three days to get water.”

And then his seriousness died off and he again laughed openly, “Silly Mia…Mr. O lives on the bus…!”

That’s right, folks.  I live in a loony bin.

Toby's New Bus Mate

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A long while ago, in a different era, under completely different circumstances when the future was 100 years away and the present was a blur of exhaustion and toddler-hood, I remember trying to console my poor little 4 year old Toby as he lamented to me, after his first week of school, about how long, tiring and lonely his bus ride home from kindergarten was.

I had to summon some great inner strength to get through the conversation without crying; his sadness broke my heart.  Deep down I KNEW that this hour long bus ride, at the end of a very long day of kindergarten, was a torture no child should have to endure.  But it was how things had to be at this point in our lives and confessing the former wouldn’t make things any easier on him .  And so I listened and consoled;  I cried in private.  Most importantly, I reassured Toby that one day soon he wouldn’t be the only child on his bus - -that his little sister Mia would some day ride it with him and it would be the 2 of them on a great long adventure up the mountain on their magic school bus.

Toby wanted desperately to believe in my optimism, but as we both peered down at his drooling, babbling, then 15 month old baby sister, it seemed a bit far fetched.

“I can’t WAIT, Mommy” he said to me bravely, “I just can’t WAIT until Mia can come with me on the bus!!!”

Toby clung to this hope for both of his kindergarten years and would ask regularly WHEN EXACTLY this day would arrive that his sister could come with him.  He often would excitedly tell Mia about the amazing time they were going to have together on the bus and would pre-emptively reassure her, “Mia, one day you, too are going to have to take the long bus ride home but don’t worry…if you get tired you can close your eyes and have a sleep.  And we can play games together.  It will be SO fun, Mia” he would say to his 18 month old sister as she would idly sit by and pick her nose or attempt to throw his books out the car window.

Eventually, last year, we made the move to town and his new bus route became a source of joy;  short, sweet and filled with his very best friends, our lamentations about the bus ride now centered on the fact that he NEEDED to have after school playdates with his friend because they didn’t get enough TIME together on the bus to finish Pokeman trading etc.

I had all but forgotten my long ago prophecy until last night, as I tucked my now 4-year old Mia into bed and talked to HER about the plan for her first day of kindergarten.

“Tomorrow, Mia, YOU get to go on the bus JUST like Toby.  And you can sit with him all the way to school and he will tell you where to go when you get off and he will meet you on the same bus after school and sit with you on the way home.”

And all of a sudden…I remembered.

Was this day REALLY here?  Just like that- - here I am, as if no time has passed between Toby’s first week of JK and Mia’s.   What a jolt of reality to the idle monotony of daily life; a humbling reminder of the speed of time.   We talk a lot about the future, how we want life to unfold, how we expect things to be.  I feel like we often wish away these young years with reassurances of easier times to come.  “Man life will be SO EASY when they are both in school all day every day…” 

I’m sure I’ve said that a dozen times.

What a gift it is to slow down and let the full force of the past 4 years hit me square in the conscience.

My baby has just gone off on the bus to big kid school for the first time today.  We shouted accolades of her bravery and maturity and packed her a lunch designed for 8 year olds.  It was a theatrical façade of her “grown up” status that still seems like a hoax.  I drove behind the bus the whole time and greeted her at the other end.  We both stood tall and proud in the schoolyard, together, until the bell went and then we both cried. She loves her teachers but missed me today. She wasn’t entirely sure if she had to take her belt off to go to the bathroom but was too shy to ask.  She hardly touched her big girl lunch.  I know all this because we spent a good time snuggling on the couch when we both got home after our day apart.

But this façade will only be such for a short tome longer.   One day very soon she will not cry when she gets to school.  She will not spend the day missing me and she will devour her lunch and complain that I didn’t pack enough.  And our after school snuggle will soon be replaced with playdates and swim lessons and, one day even further away, homework.

So for now I will cherish the snuggles and rejoice in the fact that Toby, after many years of patiently waiting, finally has his bus-mate.  Life is good.  Today, yesterday and tomorrow…I must think twice before wishing these moments away…

Mia, holding Toby's hand, as she boards the bus for the first time

Miss Mia

And excited Toby and an apprehensive Mia

My and my girl