Notes to self.

Why do I hit myself with a hammer? 

Because it feels soooo good when I stop.

I love watching my daughters growing up.  I took them to their new school for kindergarten/preschool roundup.  I’m excited for Ella to go to school.  Not for the obvious reason (which would be to get her out of my hair for 7 hours a day) but because I think she will dig it.  I think she will do really well.  She makes friends easily.  She likes to learn.  She’s a little quirky, sure.  I shelter her.  She knows not of Hannah Montana.  She sings whenever and whatever she feels like it.  She asks questions about almost everything.  She can trip over a gum wrapper.  I choose her wardrobe and I dress her like a little girl and not a mini-spring breaker at South Padre Island.  What’s a mom to do?

Send her to private school.  Parochial school.  With a dress code.  Small classes.  Experienced teachers.  Focus on the arts instead of sports.  It’s my aha! moment.

Amelia will be going to preschool two days a week next fall as well.  My baby who I still think of as a baby.  Amelia, who can scale the cupboards and get on the counter in about 4 seconds.  Amelia, who refuses to walk down the stairs to the basement by herself.  My snuggler.  My shopping companion.  Who recently learned how to really brush her teeth (as opposed to just sucking the brush bristles) and wants to brush 18 times a day.  Which is good because she may or may not have a Dr. Pepper addiction.

All this means to me, today, is that I will have 6 hours of kid free time each week starting August 20.  Counting the days?  Yes I am. 

I think that most parents want their kids to be kids for as long as possible.  In my town that feeling seems to last as long as the Pampers don’t run out.  It kind of makes me want to move.  I’ve met so many disrespectful, bossy, whiny brats in the last year that it’s unbelievable.  And I?  Don’t want to raise a disrespectful, bossy, whiny brat.

I might be losing that battle.

So I fight and scratch and spit to keep my kids above the fray.  And what do I get?  The shock that I would dare send my kids to private school instead of the free school (in a good school district) down the street.  The criticism.  The surprise. 

The same reaction to my planned unmedicated births.  And the cloth diapers.  And the decision to stay here instead of moving “home” after I buried my each of my boys. 

For an introvert with not enough sleep but too much time on her hands, I sure carry a big hammer.