Friday, September 3, 2010

Mrs. Rego

Today C is having his first full day of school.  There are now 40 children in his classroom and there is a second teacher.  The principal is opening a new kindergarten classroom on Tuesday, after Labor Day weekend.  I am giving the school ten whole days in which to fix it all and then we are going to have a gigantic family meeting about what to do... if something still needs to be done. 
thats my update.
I took him, I put him in... he was nervous but really wanted to go.  He is the most friendly, socially excitable boy that ever there was.  He is going to have so much to talk about this weekend and I am looking forward to it and glad that we've got three days before we do this again.
Having three days to emotionally vomit helped this morning go very smoothly. 

And behind it all lurks the idea of myself as a little Portuguese widow, wringing my hands behind the garden gate while my boy goes off to manhood.   I might as well be sending him off to sea. 
Where I live now and where I grew up, the little Portuguese women dress in black and carry rosaries and do frequently panic in public about family, storms, large dogs, etc.  The one I grew up with was Mrs. Rego.  One of her daughters lived across the street and another lived on the next street over and another lived in the next town and one, god forbid, lived in Canada. good lord.
I am she. She is me. 
I am wringing my hands and wishing for a rosary and, albeit a bit more privately, panicking. . .
I'm sure I will make it through the day, but I might be blind or deaf, again.