Hells Bells, a cowboy!?

Last week my Facebook newsfeed blew up with links to Jen Hatmakers blog post "Worst End of School Mom Ever." I laughed with the worst of them, and felt more than a twinge of commradorie in the humoristic realities of the modern momma eking out my first Kindergartners final stretch. 

Why on that very morning before the infamous link circulated, his right strap on his Batman backpack unstitched, and was dragging on the ground. No matter, I just "hulked" it off with my bare hands, threads flapping in the breeze, and informed him that he had 6 days left to wear it across his body with one strap. 

About a week ago, his once a week purchase of school lunch switched to me hunting down change every other day. I'm sure the lunch lady in the cafeteria wants to strangle me. Recently my husband went and met Z for lunch for the first time this year. Afterwards the man entered our home with a glazed look of overload, walked directly to our bed, laid down and stared blankly at his iPhone for a good hour. I don't think he would ever recover from counting out $2.35 in quarters, dimes, and nickles as the noise level in the elementary school cafeteria climbed off the charts. If I owe any staff member an end of the year a gift, it's probably her. Maybe I should present her with her own brown bag, adult contents included. 

All-in-all we were still riding out the year in a fairly operative manner, considering. I can't really say we were "awesome" on day one. We made it to school with everything, except any kind of camera. As we walked Z inside we passed hoards of parents and children, cameras flashing, and pictures snapping. I sort of thought we should be walking on red carpet, but I didn't really twinge with any 'worst parent shame'. The thing was I didn't really care. I got a great smiley excited picture of him with my phone right before we left the house, which was why my phone was probably lying on the kitchen counter. I didn't really need photographic proof we had made it in one piece outside the brick building. 

Today was his Kindergarten graduation. We had made it. Or so I thought. Just last week I had laughed as Jen described her "fresh hell" of piece-mealing together a last minute Benjamin Franklin costume for Living History day. You'd think it would've prepared me for the moment my husband burst through the door this morning after dropping Z off. "Don't you answer your phone?!! His teacher is calling us. He's not supposed to be in khaki's and a polo, he is supposed to be a cowboy!" 

HELLS BELLS, a cowboy. Now why didn't I think of that? I have since scoured my email and we were somehow by-passed on that correspondence. And my son? Well I found out the "surprise" at graduation that he had been referring to all weekend. So take it from me parents, next time your Kindergartner tells you they have a surprise part in a performance? It might be wise to extract the info, pronto. Or else you will be surprised. You will be running around with hot rollers in your hair conjuring up the makings of a cowboy from the four corners of your home. All I can say is "praise" we weren't the chef, or the policeman. We would've been stranded up a creek. 

 

My husband felt as if his world had just warped into crazy town. He doesn't get the modern day parent protocol. He could barely even comprehend why we were holding a Kindergarten graduation in the first place. As we pulled up to the school, I was clutching the cowboy garb and ready to make a mad dash for the entrance. Suddenly I saw sun-dressed mothers in heels, and exclaimed in dismay, "Oh no, look at all the moms, I'm not wearing a dress, only platform shoes." He looked at me and said, "are you all kidding yourselves!? I don't even know who you are this morning." To which I rolled my eyes, made a mental note to never put this man on costume duty, and leaped from the car bee-lining it to the principal. She was already outside engaged in arguments with angry parents who hadn't got the memo for the pre-registration security process for admittance to the graduation. Whew, at least we dodged a bullet there, since I had somehow gained access to that elite form and submitted it. She looked at my apologetic anxiety heavy face and the cowboy garb. She unaffectedly reached out for the bundle and asked "What class?" Whew. We did it. We made it in time to outfit our cowboy for the adorable beyond words musical program of "What I Wanna Be, What I Wanna Be, What I Wanna Be When I'm Big Me."

I don't even care that a cowboy isn't my top choice for his chosen profession, I'm just so relieved he was given the part that we could scrap together today. You know, so his "surprise to us" wasn't ruined and all. We learned as he walked across the stage that his chosen profession is to be a Secret Agent. The weapon technology is supposedly top rate. How I love my amazingly imaginative 6 year old! 

After the program, we were ushered outside to enjoy a punch and cupcake reception. It was there that I was redeemed from the low man on the totem pole of the worst parent spectrum. Not that I'm keeping track. But my favorite quote was from a young Kindergartner girl from another class. As she sipped her lemonade, she loudly announced, "It tastes like a margarita!"

 

TWO-HEADED MONSTER