Adjusting

So, when school started last week, I would have written a letter that looked something like this:

Dear School Routine,

Welcome back! We were ready to give you time off last spring, and we embraced your substitute, Summer Routine. However, when Summer Routine went AWOL sometime around August 1st, we became a bit aimless. It was fun for a (short) while, but when you returned we were OH-SO-HAPPY.

Love,
The Greens

Now, if I were to write the same letter, it would go something like this:

Dear School Routine,

You have thoroughly kicked our asses. We are tired. We are crabby. You are a slave driving bitch.

*Middle Finger*,
The Greens

+++++++++++

Kate has been crying everyday at drop-off. When I leave (after a hojillion neck-strangulation-type hugs), she is fine. She loves kindergarten, in fact. But she's also nervous and anxious and sad to leave her mama for so long.

Joan skips into school like she is the most happy-go-lucky child ever to burst through those doors. She says to the teacher- "She's been crying everyday. _I_ don't know why. _I'm_ not crying." She says this shrugging her shoulders and eying Kate as if she is the most alien child in the class, instead of the twin sister WHOM SHE SHARED A WOMB WITH.

+++++++++

Marin says to me- "Mama. Sit. Play wif me."

*Blink, blink*

Um, Marin, perhaps you didn't get that memo, but I'm not the type of mama who plays with children. I'm here to wipe your nose, kiss your bumps, make you lunch, cuddle you before nap, take you on stroller rides, and put Elmo on the TV when you start driving me nuts.

She also says to me- "Come ON Mama. Let's go! Get Joan-Kate time!"

And it's only nine o'clock in the morning.

(Girlfriend needs a baby-sibling!)