Back to school has come and gone.
In a show of solidarity with all the other moms, who silently suffered through summer, I threw an enormous wine and school bus party and invited all my friends to decompress from what they had just survived. We hung around all day drinking and watching 80s movies and eating raw cookie dough out of the Costco-sized tub.
The best five pounds I've ever earned.
Wait. That was all just a DREAM? DANG!
In real life, I tried my best to get the Yoys adjusted to their new teachers and schedules and such. That included eliminating bed time that had slowly crept up to 10PM...11PM... Who cares, I'm going to sleep.
Big E rolled right into second grade like he owned the place. His transition was seamless.
Little E rolled right into a wall. As he lay crying on the floor because I asked him to write his name on the top of his half page of homework.
WHY DO I HAVE TO WRITE MY NAME ON EVERYTHING? I KNOW WHAT MY NAME IS!
WHY IS MY NAME SO LONG? WHY CAN'T I JUST WRITE "E"?
WHY DO I HAVE TO WRITE SO MUCH? WHY CAN'T I GO BACK TO KINDERGARTEN?
I exhaled and tried to breathe out my frustration.
How can one of my children be working on this, for fun:
And the other one, be too tired to bother capitalizing or punctuating sentences? All of Little E's stories should be narrated by Tim Tebow as there are no commas, periods, or pauses taken of any kind. (That is for my Gator friends out there, and you know what I'm talking about if you've ever heard "The Speech".)
Gratuitous Tim Tebow Picture
I know sibling comparison is one of the ten deadly sins of parenting, but my kids are only a year apart in school, and their overall attitude towards learning is so polarized, it's startling.
We've only had a few nights of homework thus far, but I've already seen the sneak preview of the next nine months. You might just find me right there next to Little E on the floor. Crying my eyes out, too.
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