Anyone can get a library card from the county library. In fact, I’m 95% sure the dog could check out a copy of “How To Slump On The Floor All Day: A Guide For Everyday Canine Living,” but he doesn’t need it.

Over the years, trips with the kids were predictable:

• Pay for the lost book
• Checkout 15 books
• Repeat and rinse the next week

In stark contrast the elementary school library requires Kindergarteners to go through four training sessions on how to use the library and take care of a book.

Here is my abbreviated 30 second version:

• Select a book.
• Check out a book.
• Take care of the book.
• Return the book.

During required library training, the excited Kindergarteners are drilled on the procedures of check out as if attempting to obtain top secret security clearance.

“Once you have been issued your credentials you will be able to check out top secret documents that you must guard with your life. Offenders will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.”

Busily shelving books during one of the training sessions, I giggled while listening to the lesson about not placing a drink or food next to a book. One observant boy raised his hand and noted his concern about the cup of coffee the Media Specialist had set atop the bookshelf full of 100s of books. Touche.

You get the feeling that if they don’t follow exact procedures, they will hear “No Book For YOU!”

I pictured them cautiously approaching the checkout desk, sweat dripping down their forehead as they await the verdict that all rules were sufficiently met.

This week the class walked out of the library as newly-licensed agents of reading. With terrified looks, they securely grasped books in their hands.

Some mentioned they were too afraid to touch the book and read it for fear of bending a page. Frightened minds were cluttered with visions of sitting on a couch innocently reading the book when a large Coke appears out of thin air and spills on the cover.

Yesterday little one skipped happily into the house and announced she had checked out her first library book.

“Let’s read it now,” I suggested.

“You mean take it out of my book bag? I can’t get food or drink on it,” she nervously reminded me.

“I know. It will be fine.”

“Don’t breath on it.”

It was if I had asked her to take the Mona Lisa out of her bag and remove it from its protective container so I could color on it.

Turns out she has the special knack of selecting the most boring book in the library that was obviously mistakenly published as children’s literature. Offering all the excitement of my college Economics textbook, it contained old English mixed with vocabulary targeting an audience of Philosophy Ph.D.s, and even I couldn’t pronounce or understand some of the words.

Paging Dr. Suess…

The book was carefully returned to the book bag for a safe journey back to school.

At this point I noticed my good cookbook on the floor being used as a Barbie skateboard ramp. I wonder if the Media Specialist makes house calls.

Want to feel like a celebrity? Go have lunch with a Kindergarten class.

Walking into the lunchroom, you’ll hear the class lookout cheer “It’s a MOM!” followed by some chatter as they discuss whose Mom it is. Your child’s face will light up your heart as a proud grin and twinkle in the eyes claim you.

Feeling like Madonna walking the red carpet with all eyes on you, your reality returns as the smell of peanut butter and jelly permeate your senses.

Eighteen wide-eyed tots will be as excited to see you as if you were their own mom, and hands will be raised for help with opening their food packages and milk containers. You’re a hero rescuing them from lunch packaging obstacles.

If you aren’t familiar with a Gogurt, it is a tube of yogurt with a “pull here” tab at the top that is impossible to open without squirting the stuff all over you, the child, and the floor.

It is usually fluorescent pink or blue, and 70% of the kids have one in their lunch box. There’s a good chance you’re walking out out of there with a pink design on your shirt, so I suggest coming to lunch in camouflage and armed with an entire package of napkins.

Knowing how chaotic the first day of school lunch is, I went to help.

All kids in our area are assigned a student ID# that is also what they punch into a keypad to purchase lunch. These are children that still don’t know their phone number yet are expected to memorize a 7 digit number ASAP. In the meantime, they are all pinned with a clothespin containing their number. Most were broken by day 3 from misuse.

Another mom and I had the task of escorting 4 children through the lunch line for the first time. You may be thinking, “Wow! 4 kids and 2 moms seems like overkill.” Turns out you may need 2 moms per child as we quickly found out.

It is hard to keep an eye on two kids when so much activity is happening at the same time in a noisy lunchroom.

The Lunch Line: A Kindergartener’s View:

• The lunch clip is fun to clip onto your neighbors hand, hair, or shoe. Wow it clips on your lip and nose, too!
• Picking chocolate, strawberry, or plain milk is a life-altering decision requiring several attempts. I have to get this right.
• Placing all your silverware on your classmate’s tray is soooooo funny.
• What happens if I get out of line and mix in with the class behind us? I’m going to test that out.
• Why do those moms keep counting? There are only four of us.
• This is the perfect opportunity to act out the WWF move I saw last night.
• I can balance my milk on my head.
• I can walk to the table with my tray with my shoelaces untied. No problem…oooppfff…CRASH!!

Finally making it to check out, we painstakingly wait for each child to attempt to punch in their 7 digit number. 1 – 2 – 33 ….start over….1 – 2 – 4….start over… Time at this point went backwards. After 10 failed attempts the number is done for them, and off the child goes to the table while attempting to balance all their lunch atop a flimsy paper tray. It’s too stressful to watch.

The table is only 3 rows of tables away which makes it hard to understand how we lost one out of four kids.

Panicked we searched everywhere for several minutes. Finally finding him happily chatting away at the wrong table not realizing he had never seen these people before, we redirect him to his class and attempt to slow our heartbeats with a few deep yoga breaths.

Things I learned:

• Thirty minutes of Kindergarten lunch feels like 4 hours.
• Kindergarten teachers are saints.

Can you smell it?

No it’s not the smell of freshly sharpened pencils anxiously awaiting the start of a new school year in a brand new book bag. It’s old gym clothes that, despite soaking in Snuggle overnight, can’t let go of the funky smell from last year.

Little one starts Kindergarten next week!

She’s been waiting for the day she gets on a bus and heads to the “big school” like her siblings.

As we walked through the school earlier this week, I asked, “Aren’t you excited?!! You are going to be here next week starting Kindergarten!!” in a hysterical tone of ultimate parental euphoria.

While rolling her eyes, she mumbled back, “I WAS except you keep saying that.”

In other words, please stop.

Parent Orientation

I had to attend parent orientation this week.

Walking into the classroom filled with colorful alphabet charts and sight words, I was offered the tiny seat at her desk. It’s been 7 years since I last plopped into the junior-sized chair without a thought, and this time I was very aware that my knees are deteriorating at a rapid pace. I heard a distinctive creeeeaaaaak as I slowly sat but totally played it off like it was the chair. Unsure of whether to hunch or lean back with my feet out, I fidgeted and hoped the teacher didn’t notice. Frequently checking the clock and my phone, I looked like an ADD parent and hoped it wasn’t noted in my permanent record.

Judging by the number of moms dressed up in their matching handbags and shoes to make a great impression, I’m confident I’m the oldest mom in the class. That’s what happens when you have a child in your late 30s. Now I’m thinking the “at-risk” category really spans the entire first 18 years of their life. It starts with not being able to run as fast after a toddler and ends with the risk of not having the energy to handle a teen in your 50s.

The teacher asked, “Who is a first-time Kindergarten parent?”, and hands nervously went up everywhere. That wasn’t necessary. They’re the ones wearing a look of confusion, pride, and worry while frantically writing down everything she says. Meanwhile I’m covertly texting my daughter who is at her school next door which is the best I can do when I have to be in 2 places at once. Visions of her going on an unnecessary spending spree with my cash prompted a few checkins. Darn now my leg’s asleep. What time is it?

With the other two kids in middle and high school, I’ve been through 12 years of elementary school already. It’s old hat, so I was only half paying attention and daydreaming that she instead asked “How many people are approaching the delightful hot flash years?” and imagined being the only one slowly raising my hand while a spotlight focused on my head for all to stare in disbelief like a sideshow freak.

When she asked if there were any questions, I wanted to ask “Is the air on? It’s hot in here.”

EnchantedLearning.com

Filling out the “things I should know” form, I’m tempting to write the following notes:

• I’m psychologically allergic to glitter.
• Some days her socks may not match and that’s the dryer’s fault not hers.
• Don’t leave a message on my house phone. It is lost somewhere in the living room and I’m still trying to follow the beep.
• Tweeting is the fastest way to contact me.
• She hangs out with her 13 year old sister so she may have some unKindergarten-like information to share
• She may quote lines from Degrassi…see note above.
• She can act out all the dances from Lady Gaga videos…again see above.
• Drawings may include her sleeping on a couch, and that is correct. Since the high fever hallucination of ghosts in her room, she’s been living in the den. I’m too tired to correct that at this time. Plus I’ve seen Sixth Sense 10 times and believe her.
• She’s mastered my iPhone so if you have any technical issues, she’s happy to help if she can play Plants vs. Zombies.
• I’m also allergic to slime in a bag so please don’t send that home.

Before I left, I drew a tiny smiley face on the good deed chart taped to her desk. Next week when she sees it, she will know Mommy is proudly smiling at her.