My Last Wednesday at Work (plus: other stuff that is bound to be fascinating)

You turned another page!

Don't you know that there is a monster at the end of this blog?

And, Dear Readers, with every blog post it gets one day closer. Oh, I am so scared!

Speaking of scared (not to mention elegant segues), lately I have been having some humdinger nightmares. For instance, last week I dreamed that I was at Canada's Wonderland with several friends when somehow a car from the Fly and the DragonFyre ended up on a track that looked something like a runaway Behemoth but with loops. The cars were careening side to side and the riders were screaming as they clutched the siderails of their cars. They don't even have shoulder rails, I thought; they're going to be killed.

Very subtle, Unconscious; thank you.

Before that one I dreamt that the apartment was filled with cockroaches, piling up in the sink, drowning in the toilets, scuttling in glossy heaps against the wall. Where did they all come from? I thought. I haven't been leaving any food out or anything. How am I going to get rid of them before Frances comes back?

In last night's my apartment was filled with cobwebs, massive ropey cobwebs that stretched floor to ceiling, layered and dense, and at the centre of each squatted a spider with a body the size of a toonie. They were segmented, hard and utterly still. Eventually I found either a stick or a rolled-up magazine and used them to sweep the cobwebs away, rolling them around it, prying the sticky ends off the floor. At the base of one I found a hole in the parquet tiles, and beneath it a dark black pit. That's where they're coming from, I thought. I need something to block this off or they'll only come back. I found a spare tile somewhere, put it over the hole and weighted it down with a brick. There, that'll keep them out. Unless there's another hole somewhere. God, I hope not, Frances would be terrified.

At the end of every trail of fears I have about this going-back-to-school business is that it will somehow cause me to fail Frances. That paying attention to my own wants and ambitions is incompatible with good motherhood, that I am being selfish and she will suffer. Those ideas about good mothers being inherently self-sacrificing settle pretty deeply, as it turns out, and apparently some part of my brain is convinced that by going back to school I have invited the spiders and cockroaches in.

So when I say there's a monster at the end of this blog--plus, that I am terrified--I mean it.

It's not going to stop me from going to school. I'm just going to hyperventilate for a few weeks. And put on a damned good show about being entirely excited about it.

Item: Yesterday, Frances and I bought her back-to-school shoes. Adorable little brown leather mary-janes, red corduroy ballet flats. Most of the time she'll wear her scruffy running shoes but at the very least she needs something for picture day and the occasional class party. While we were shoe-shopping I pointed out a long-sleeved pink shirt with a wide-eyed owl appliqued on the front that somehow reminded me of Frances, and a bright stripey cardigan with a hood--the girl loves hoods. They make any item of clothing fun. Possibly including blue jeans and backpacks. "I like it, Mummy," she said. "I want to buy it." Note: this is the first time my girl has used the word "buy" correctly and in context. Let the acquisitiveness begin!

Of course, we bought them. And if you had seen how adorable she looked in that stripey cardigan with the hood pulled up over her long blonde hair, you would have too.

Item: Yesterday was my going away lunch at work, plus free cake for a coffee break and a little gift including a gift card for the York U bookstore. Clever, no? And I did not shudder, shriek nor break out in hives. (From fear. Not gift cards.)

Item: I have bought most of my textbooks. They are organized in a cubby on my bookshelf. One of them is a comic book. (says Greg: graphic novel!) Sorry. Graphic novel. Maus. How intimidated can I be when my required reading is a comi... graphic novel? (Just teasing you, hon.)

Item: Frances's school did not give us any advance information about her senior kindergarten year. We did not know whether she would be in mornings or afternoons, who her teacher would be, or when her first day was (they sometimes stagger the start for kindergarten students). The school opened for registration this week, so I finally got an answer. Next Tuesday. Mornings. I have her school hours highlighted on my class schedule and I think it's going to work rather well. We should have lots more time together.

Item: I have included Frances's morning snacks on my grocery list for this week.

Item: I am still hyperventilating, but you can't tell from looking at me.

Right? So we can pretend the book is over and not turn any more pages....

Posted by Andrea at August 27, 2008 9:37 AM under The Supposedly Mature Student

EMAIL this entry

(comments fields are below this section)