That isn't actually my name, just in case you weren't sure. I am carrying a little (big?) peanut and do have more than enough butt to speak of, but I could think of many better titles for myself. I was trying to come up with a name for today's entry and was thinking along the lines of 'Gutsy's First Day Fiasco' or 'Waddling to Preschool Takes Effort' and frankly wasn't happy with my lack of originality. Then, out of the playroom I hear 'My name is Peanut Butt' followed by endless giggles and decided that was just as good as anything I could have come up with.
Mr. Peanut Butt himself had his first morning of school today. I have proof in pictures. He's so bad he's cute, isn't he? That's what I tell myself when he stands out so starkly from the other, better-behaved children (the ones I call 'the drones' - again just to eleviate my discomfort. Putting little children down to make myself feel better is one way to a happier Maven).
One thing about Peanut Bu - er, Gutsy - is that he doesn't put on a facade for anyone. If he doesn't like what you're doing you'll know. If he doesn't want to talk to you he won't. The teacher told me today that when he doesn't agree with something he just frowns at her. There was an unspoken 'He's much easier to deal with than his big brother at this age' glance between us. An understanding of mutual respect - a sharing of previous war wounds. Intrepid was every teacher's nightmare back in the day. I was seriously considering a basket of valium for his kindergarten teacher. A gift that keeps on giving!
The Gutster had a fairly good time once he let go of my leg and agreed to let Grandma take him back into the classroom. I stood in the hallway with teary first-time mothers and remembered how lost I felt on Intrepid's first day. Ah, the good ol' days. Back when I was a good mother. Hey, I really was a good mom once upon a time, I swear! Had I met anyone who nicknamed her children, oh, say, 'the Gremlins' I would have been disgusted. How disrespectful! Mothers like that should be dragged out into the street and beaten with plastic rulers.
In other news, Intrepid's teacher wants him to learn 'Oh, Canada' on the piano for school assemblies. His kindergarten teacher - the school's resident pianist - has retired (a few years early, I'm gathering, because of the psychological damage from spending her days with children who's awful parents call them 'Spawnlings' in blog posts. That or she has to go to rehab for a valium addiction). I'm glad he's going to learn something new, because as much as I love hearing him practice piano and pick his own songs, I'm getting rather tired of 'I Love You Just the Way You Are' by Lionel Ritchie. I shudder at the thought of him playing it for another few weeks.
The children are fighting again. We've come a long way from snickering over 'Peanut Butt'. I love being a stay-at-home-mom, but I really could use some anything-but-home-mom time tonight. Maybe I'll grab a 12 step meeting and a latte. I have the patience of a toddler on a sugar high right now and I think the distraction is needed. There's only so much nesting or blogging a woman can do.
Tomorrow is speech therapy day. Friday is payday. Life is good. Pass the valium.
Mr. Peanut Butt himself had his first morning of school today. I have proof in pictures. He's so bad he's cute, isn't he? That's what I tell myself when he stands out so starkly from the other, better-behaved children (the ones I call 'the drones' - again just to eleviate my discomfort. Putting little children down to make myself feel better is one way to a happier Maven).
One thing about Peanut Bu - er, Gutsy - is that he doesn't put on a facade for anyone. If he doesn't like what you're doing you'll know. If he doesn't want to talk to you he won't. The teacher told me today that when he doesn't agree with something he just frowns at her. There was an unspoken 'He's much easier to deal with than his big brother at this age' glance between us. An understanding of mutual respect - a sharing of previous war wounds. Intrepid was every teacher's nightmare back in the day. I was seriously considering a basket of valium for his kindergarten teacher. A gift that keeps on giving!
The Gutster had a fairly good time once he let go of my leg and agreed to let Grandma take him back into the classroom. I stood in the hallway with teary first-time mothers and remembered how lost I felt on Intrepid's first day. Ah, the good ol' days. Back when I was a good mother. Hey, I really was a good mom once upon a time, I swear! Had I met anyone who nicknamed her children, oh, say, 'the Gremlins' I would have been disgusted. How disrespectful! Mothers like that should be dragged out into the street and beaten with plastic rulers.
In other news, Intrepid's teacher wants him to learn 'Oh, Canada' on the piano for school assemblies. His kindergarten teacher - the school's resident pianist - has retired (a few years early, I'm gathering, because of the psychological damage from spending her days with children who's awful parents call them 'Spawnlings' in blog posts. That or she has to go to rehab for a valium addiction). I'm glad he's going to learn something new, because as much as I love hearing him practice piano and pick his own songs, I'm getting rather tired of 'I Love You Just the Way You Are' by Lionel Ritchie. I shudder at the thought of him playing it for another few weeks.
The children are fighting again. We've come a long way from snickering over 'Peanut Butt'. I love being a stay-at-home-mom, but I really could use some anything-but-home-mom time tonight. Maybe I'll grab a 12 step meeting and a latte. I have the patience of a toddler on a sugar high right now and I think the distraction is needed. There's only so much nesting or blogging a woman can do.
Tomorrow is speech therapy day. Friday is payday. Life is good. Pass the valium.