Honestly, I was almost shockingly non-emotional about back-to-school this year. With all of Noah's assorted stir-crazy regressions that started almost immediately after he was set loose in my unstructured care, I was downright looking forward to getting him back to school. Besides, he's still not starting kindergarden, he's simply going back for his THIRD YEAR of preschool.
We've been calling it pre-K all summer to soothe Noah's hurt feelings over not going to kindergarden, like many of his friends from the private school, which was a mixed-age classroom. And to distract him from the fact that he won't be going to the private school again. (Cliff Notes to That Whole Thing: both private and public options for this year were in the afternoon, so we had to pick one. We went with 1) free, 2) close, 3) where he'll be attending kindergarden anyway, and 4) 5) 6) freeeeee.) But I knew better: same old, same old.
I got him a haircut and a new backpack. That was the extent of our back-to-school shopping.
It didn't hit me until yesterday, when we stood outside waiting for the school bus. I lifted the camera to my face and looked through the viewfinder and whoa. Whoa. WHOA.
I don't want to alarm anyone, but somebody needs to get over here and pick up their kid. And bring back that toddler I just had the other day.
And I think someone pulled a similar trick with the little one.
The bus was late, very late, and Noah grew impatient while I suddenly had a belated attack of the DON'TGOILOVEYOUS.
No big deal. Same old, same old. Right? RIGHT?
(Don't even think about it yet, you.)