Lockers and Backpacks and Tears, Oh My!

OK.  I've finally been to Peabody Elementary and back home without shedding a tear.  Kindergarten Orientation.  Tonight.  Done.  No tears.  What's that you ask?  Me?  Oh, yeah.  This is Josh.  The daddy.  The one who spends the least amount of time with these two hoodlums, but has enough emotional clinginess for the entire family.  I finally made the journey dry eyed.  On the third try.

Walt corrected me earlier today when I asked how his second day was; today was his "third day" of kindergarten.  One preview day last Wednesday.  (Sobs in the car.  Just ask Nana.  She got a call.)  Monday.  A misty-eyed, head-down walk back down Tanglewood.  And this morning.  Ginger finally had enough and took him herself.  No tears.  But I'm not going to lie and say that I didn't sit on the front porch with Patrick in my lap the whole time Ginger was gone and not let him down or even consider that he would ever walk much less disappear around the corner, sprinting toward the schoolhouse.

If you're just catching up with the Boys in the 'Hood, Walt is going to the neighborhood school just down the street from us.  Inspired by our amazing neighborhood, good friends and a dedicated group of educators, we decided to stay local.  Two blocks away local.  We're very excited.  So is Walt (he actually did sprint to school on the first day), and so are many of his friends (Adam was sprinting, too) and their parents (no sprinting parents, but I think I heard Chris Lareau ask if he could get a meal pass).  For more on the whole process that brought us to this point, read Ginger's recent article from our community newspaper, The Lamplighter.

Here are the three amigos on the front steps on the first real day:

 

I hope their geography teacher didn't draw that globe.  Pangea is long gone, last I checked. 

 

They have lockers!  If you stand outside a classroom door and watch your five-year old open a locker for the first time, hang his brand-new, monogrammed backpack in it, and gently shut it and you don't tear up, you probably also enjoy the high comedy of Old Yeller.  It's even worse when he's showing his best buddy how to open HIS locker because it got stuck.  It's almost as if they are self-sufficient and must now depend on each other for things like this . . . . Oh my.

 

Ms. Malland seems particularly well-equipped to handle this: she had tissues for me AND Chris.

 

When I look at this last picture, I don't see myself in it.  But I do see the other person; only I see him at about my height, walking around the corner . . . of that car (probably the same one.  Ha!), getting in and driving off . . . to high school or college or some other place where they only allow parents to come and drop off money.  And at the current pace, I see this happening tomorrow.  And I'm so not ready.

 
In other, less sad news, I did manage to get some video of me putting on Patrick's diaper and pajamas tonight (that's me in the red):

 

Eleven Months

You may be tuning in here expecting a first-day-of-kindergarten post, but I think we all know that Josh is going to do that one more justice, so we'll save that topic for an evening when he's home to write something that will make us all weep.  In the meantime, I'll play a bit of catch-up and do Patrick's eleven month post.  Only four days late -- sorry, Patrick.

 

Geez, it's not that late, P! 

 

There, that's better.

Patrick is in that stage I remember all too well with Walt -- into everything within reach.  The only difference between him and his big brother at this point is that Walt was still pretty much floor-bound -- crawling, but not much else.  Patrick is cruising and climbing (and subsequently tumbling -- hence the bruise on his forehead), which puts a lot more within his reach than Walt's at the same age.  All flat surfaces have been cleared.  Magazines are stuck in strange places on the bookshelf.  The board games which used to reside on the shelf under the coffee table have moved to higher ground.  It's definitely a minimalist decor at Chez Spickler these days.

 

And speaking of his brother, the hero worship continues unabated.  In this picture, he's watching Walt assemble his Nerf gun.  Awesome.  Thanks for that, Putty.

Let's see . . . other developments.  No real words to speak of . . . maybe "uh-oh", though that may be in my imagination.  He does occasionally sign for more, though that's pretty selective, as well.  Again, much like it was with his brother at the same age, it's all "Da-da-da-da-da".  Which seems to have little to do with Josh.  But we're not pushing the talking thing.  Trust me, there's plenty of talking going on around here without adding to the cacophony.  We thought about not teaching him to talk at all, but that seemed like maybe it would come back to haunt us.  Plus, since Walt NEVER SHUTS UP, he's bound to pick up a word or two.

Also, he still has no teeth.  Walt was also slow on the tooth front, but he definitely had at least a couple by his eleven-month mark.  Patrick . . . nothing.  Not that that stops him from chowing down.  The kid can gum an impressive array of foodstuffs.  Honeydew melon is probably is current favorite (if you don't count Fruit Puffs as a food, which I definitely do not -- they're more like a gateway drug to hard junk food).  But he also likes bananas, peaches, cheese, and macaroni and cheese (which is practically its own food group in our house).

So, all in all, he's the same sweet little baby he's been since the Prevacid kicked in at four months.  Just a lot faster.

 

Official eleven-month picture here!