Today was hard.
Not for me.
For Millie.
She's in 1st now.
And the genius of Junie B. Jones is that it's almost real. Like looking in a mirror. At my daughter.
1 week of school in. Full days. And she has turned into this talk-a-tive, non-listening, hyper child.
Today I received my first phone call from the school. Panic attack, until I heard Millie's voice:
Mom. I need you to bring me a shirt. I spilled all over my shirt. Come now. I'm in the office.I'm there. And her shirt, yellow and new for the school year, had chocolate running down the front with a bunch of strawberry smatterings for highlight.
Today was her first time purchasing school lunch. And her mother never taught her to drink from the chocolate milk cartons without a straw.
And her teachers moved her desk. Why?
Because they said that it would be better for me.What does that mean? Has she been misbehaving? Non-stop talking? A problem student?
That wasn't the case last year. But all of a sudden her talking switch has been turned on, and every new person she meets tells me "she certainly likes to talk."
And the girl that I know who so badly wants to get to pink, is bumped warning and then informs me:
When my teacher gets mad and says, "Millie this is your warning!", I just cross my eyes like this.And then she crosses her eyes.
Wish she would do that with me. Instead, I get yelling, crying, screaming, door slamming, apologies that then meld back into our cycle 'o' fatigue. For I am sure that is the cause. Right? Right?
I'm saying right. Cause it makes me feel better. And what if I hadn't been home today?
