Tuesday, July 7, 2009

More. More of everything. All kinds of action around here! Very exciting. But I'm not going to tell you about it, as I don't want to bore you (at least, not today.) One man's "action" is another man's hyper-caffeinated channel surfing finger.

I mentioned that I was "confused" this morning. "Again?" Mrs. Ditchman asked, and it was then that I thought: uh oh. So I guess I better get to the bottom of it. I think it has to do with the doubled-up workload, anticipation of future events, and the pile of mail, chores, and unread magazines on my desk. Also, the receipts are mounting up, due to the previously mentioned weekend of consumption. I meticulously double-check my receipts in the register, and then appropriately file each one for tax purposes. It is a simple task, except when put off, where it soon becomes a surprising morass of paperwork. Like a looming Tax Day without a deadline.

Today was the Little Ditchman's first day of school! She was excited about it, and I suspect she'll do well as long as these schools sustain that preconceived interest. It's Preschool, in case you were wondering, but it's not even that, as it's summer Preschool. I remember absolutely loathing summer school as a child, and would stop at nothing to avoid it. I guess with Summer Preschool they get the brainwashing in early.

Getting ready this morning she asked a perfectly valid question: "Do they have a bathroom at my new school?" The answer, in case you're wondering, is yes, thank Jehovah. I'll have to teach her about the difference between may and can now, because I remember every kid being mocked by the higher-ups for asking "Can I go to the bathroom?" I hope so! HAR HAR! was always the answer, or thereabouts. It was never funny.

So we roll on. There was a typical amount of First Day chaos in the classroom and I immediately hoped the teacher had a team of able assistants. I thought to myself that that was a job that I just could not handle -being a lone pre-school teacher. (Damn, what fortitude that must require.) We put the little girl's name tag on her and showed her to her new cubby and introduced her to her new teacher and our Little Ditchman just ran in and got on with it, like she'd been there a thousand times, and done with us. We didn't cry about any of it. We just sort of gave it a sanguine shrug, walked back to the parking lot and got in our respective cars. I went off to work, Mommy went off to Jazzercise, and the Little Digger just happily laughed it all off like he does everything else, neither considering the momentous occasion nor the profound passing of Time.

Wish I could be more like him.