I spuddle.

It was kindergarten registration this week which means that I went into a tailspin of angst about what is THE RIGHT THING TO DO.    The Bun is currently in a private school that we can’t really afford long-term and that does full day kindergarten, which we don’t really want, and separates the boys from the girls (which initially I thought was TERRIFIC! and now I think is STUPID!)   Keeping him where he is is not an option and keep in mind that he is FOUR and so the fact that I’m having any sort of angst about it is ridiculous.   I just want him to learn to read.   I’m going to teach him myself, so actually the whole school thing is moot, except of course it isn’t moot at all.

To make a long story even longer than necessary, I’ll tell you that we are in the catchment for a French school, which is fine.   Be French.   I don’t care.   I, personally, have no skill for languages AT ALL and am not really interested in exposing The Bun to a language that he will be required to speak if and when he travels to France or Quebec, but that isn’t really spoken anywhere relevant to his life.   Likely he will now grow up to be an ardent francophile and will resent me bitterly for my choice, but there you have it.   I’ll just come right out and say it:  I HATED FRENCH IN SCHOOL.    I really did.   I ALSO think that school should not be stressful when you are, you know, FIVE.   But!  I can easily be talked into anything and as more and more people opined on the French track vs. English track, I started to be unsure.   Then I began to wobble a bit back into the idea of French.

Then I thought, SCREW IT, I’M HOMESCHOOLING!

Then I thought, HA HA HA HA HA.   NO, I AM NOT.

So I lined up for registration, only I was later than I wanted to be and as it turned out, was too late for French registration anyway, the line was huge and the library was thick with frantic parents filling out forms maniacally to get their kid the coveted French spot.   I was relieved to have chosen English and also not relieved, as The Birdy started screaming and scaling the shelves like a kidnapped spider monkey up the walls of his cage.   The Bun lay down on the floor and I didn’t have a pen and MAN OH MAN, IT WAS SO STRESSFUL.

But now it’s over.   I did it.   English.   DECISION MADE.   I am still second-guessing my choice.   Oh, self-doubt.   You are so sweet, if by “sweet”, I mean “annoying, and stop it already.”

In any event, I wrote this post this morning with the intention of telling you about this thing that happened there in the library of the school during registration that made me indignant and then I got distracted and forgot why I started the story.  It’s things like this that make me realize that I am as batty as a …well, a bat.   Is that an expression?  As batty as a _____?   If so, fill in the blank.

So there we were, in the overcrowded library, lined up with forms and I had the spider monkey dangling from my hair and was dragging the lying down one along somewhere near my knees and I was dying to get out of there and also massively late for everything because of waiting in the library and this man suddenly leaped to the front of the line, waving his papers in the air and he said… I’m not even making this up because even I could not come up with something so implausible… he said, “SORRY, LADIES OF OAK BAY.   EXCUSE ME.   SORRY LADIES.   BUT IS THERE A SPECIAL LINE UP FOR THOSE OF US WHO HAVE REAL JOBS WE HAVE TO GET TO?”   There was this complete silence and no one said what they were thinking, mostly because what they were thinking was not polite enough language to use in a primary school library where there were all those short tables and tiny chairs.   I mean, what *I* was thinking was not appropriate to scream in the face of this obnoxious creep around the tiny chairs.   Or my tiny children for that matter.   But seriously, the h-e-double-hockey-sticks?  Because we were predominantly women, we were obviously unemployed?   I mean, right after that, I rushed home and donned my apron and whipped up a batch of cookies, a pot roast, and a few martinis for my MAN.   Or did I?   No, I didn’t.   What I DID was take the kids to where they needed to go and then WORKED.    You know, just like a man.

1950 called, they want their chauvinism back.   If they call again, tell them I think I know JUST the guy for them.

Filed under: Kids