i am so. effing. serious, you guys. i am dying. it is the start of week 4 — of the rest of my life. and i am dying.
sure. this whole real school thing starts off beyond cute. it’s all sweet uniforms and dinosaur backpacks, your first packed lunches, sparkly new shoes, new teachers, new friends’ names to learn, new parents to meet/befriend/impress/judge . . . throw in a PTA cookout and happy daily reports from the field and you’re like okay, wow. getting up and out the door this early is completely kicking my ass, but omg it is soooo worth it. we can totally do this!
and then it’s Friday of the third week and none of it has gotten any easier. i mean, shouldn’t it have gotten at least an eensy bit easier by now? for the love of god. it doesn’t matter if you’ve stayed up gabbing and drinking wine until 1:00 in the morning or headed straight to bed with a sleeping pill at 9:30, no amount of snooze time seems to be capable of helping you shift your body clock so that you’re even a percentage of functional, comfortable and pleasant when the alarm goes off at 6:30. none. and the girl’s over it all already, too. getting up and putting on a uniform has already become boring. and the getting up itself is now harder, since the newness has worn off. and there is attitude. and there are tears (for both of you).
and then it dawns on you. behind that cute facade and the excitement of shiny newness, lies the fiendish, snarly, sleep-deprived rest of your life. because you know what? you’re lookin’ at your morning schedule for the next 12 years. and let’s be honest. at this age, that is pretty much the rest of your life. i will definitely have a walker by the time i am allowed to sleep in until 7:30 again on a week day, and Spy most certainly will be in the home by then. this is it, people.
and then your future and the whole concept of school, itself, and those other more adaptable parents who seem to have mastered this ungodly state of affairs (bastards) are all laughing at you. mwahahahaha . . . and you hope to god this whole thing is just a horrible nightmare because that would mean you are actually sleeping! and if it is, you are willing to keep sleeping through it and hope for a happy ending. because you are just. too. fucking. exhausted.
