I’ve been running around the last few weeks buying school supplies for The Big One to start 3rd grade at the end of the summer. I’m a bargain hunter (never pay retail!), so I’ve been buying a little here and a little there, whenever I find a good deal.
And every so often, as I’m getting him ready for school, I realize that The Little One could have been starting kindergarten in the fall too. Maybe.
See, try as I might to get him born earlier, he was evicted born 13 days after the cut off date. 13 stinking days.
Don’t get me wrong. I love my boys to death. But I’ve been a stay-at-home-mom for almost 9 years now. 9 years where the majority of my conversations have to do with imaginary friends, or crayons, or Batman, or the most recent episode of The Backyardigans. Not to mention the 9 years of a single income household. I have daydreams about finishing a meal without having to get up and refill someone’s glass, or take them to the bathroom. I wouldn’t mind a few more quiet hours in my day that don’t involve answering questions I just can’t answer. Yes, I know why the sky is blue. No, I can’t translate it into 4-year-old.
Our county does give you the opportunity to test your near the cut off date kids to see if they can start kindergarten early. And we didn’t even do it. Because deep down, I knew, even as smart as he is (hell, he reads and adds already), he’d do better waiting a year. He’s a boy. He’s tiny. He’s not all that mature, socially. And I knew, if he tested in, I probably wouldn’t have the will power not to send him, even though I knew it was best to wait.
So I get one more year with my baby. One more year of preschool, and playdates, and sticky fingers, and special lunches together. And I don’t promise that I won’t wish he was in kindergarten once in a while. But I promise to enjoy our last year of days together.
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