If you’re dying to know how Junior is doing at preschool (I know you're on the edge of your seat, folks), you’ll have to ask Chuck. He’s been handling drop-offs. From what he says, they’ve improved from kicking, screaming and leg clinging to mere whimpering. That comforts me, but part of me does wonder if everyone—including Junior’s teacher—is lying to me.
"Suuure, honey, Junior skipped away as he cried. He skipped!"
"Suuure, Mrs. Mullet, Junior had a blast after Chuck left. A blast!"
It’s the abundance of enthusiasm that makes me nervous. Kind of like when you ask the waiter to reheat your spaghetti and he comes back to the table and says, “Here you go, ma’am, the cook was thrilled to reheat it for you. Thrilled!” Meanwhile what the cook really did was floss his ass cheeks with the spaghetti and finish it off with some saliva.
Sometimes it’s better not to know I guess.
According to the preschool teacher, Junior’s little book of pictures has really helped soothe him. It was the ECE director’s suggestion. Basically, I jimmied up a pocket-sized picture book of trains, family photos, and photos of our fat, wretched cats so he could feel close to home whenever he needed to. It saddens me that Junior takes comfort in the sight of those mangeballs—I was hoping to “lose” them in the move—but hey, it’s a victory nonetheless.
The teacher, bless her heart, turned around and made Junior her own picture book. It has photos of the school, classrooms and classmates. He can look at it when he’s home and on the way to school.
So for preschool comfort we’ve got:
1) a stuffed dog
2) a Mom-made picture book
3) a teacher-made picture book
4) a special granola bar for the ride to school (build those rituals)
5) a lollipop for the ride home (ibid)
6) a He-Man action figure (generously donated from Junior’s Uncle Ted, for when Junior needs to feel brave)
and 7) a handle of Jack
That last one’s for me. Even if I can’t drink it, I can lick the glorious little bubbles of whiskey-esque condensation that form under the cap. Shoot it with some Coke, and it’s almost enough to catch a buzz.
Fine, no it’s not. Not even close. Not even if I snort it. But even if I did catch a little buzz, I wouldn’t be alone. According to the New York Post—an incredibly reliable publication—“More pregnant women are raising a glass of wine without guilt.”
So now I'm really curious, did you? Are you? Have you ever? Will you? Do you think it’s wrong?