I am now the parent of a school-age child

Kindergarten has started for Jellybean (I know, already -- doesn't it seem way early?)! And so far, we all have survived.

Some of my anxiety subsided before the first day, mostly because of visiting her classroom and meeting her teacher, and knowing how that helped make her more comfortable. But the mom hormones must have been gushing through my veins, because I was weepy and emotional for like 3 days before (not in front of her, thankfully). I wasn't quite prepared for that part of it.

I don't think her first day of school could have gone any better. She strode into her classroom confident and excited, and she was glad to be there. When I picked her up at the end of the day, she came running toward us, arms open wide to give a hug...to Peanut. It really was sweet -- and sad -- how much they had missed each other all day.

We walked back home, and when we got into the driveway, Jellybean said, unsolicited, "Well, that was a lot of fun, guys. Thank you for picking me up. I had the perfect day at kindergarten!" My just-turned-5-year-old got replaced by a 10-year-old in one day!

I opened her lunchbox when we got inside, and she still had about half her lunch -- half a sandwich, half her apple, half her vegetables. Apparently they only have 20 minutes (!) for lunch. So, she sat down at the table and polished off the entire remains of her lunch right then and there, in addition to the snack we'd had on the way home.

Onward and upward, to the second day of school and beyond. And to think, I thought the baby phase was going to last forever...

Arachnophobia

The only reason I know the term for "fear of spiders" at top of mind is because of the movie that came out like 9 million years ago, "Arachnophobia." And now, to think, that term definitely applies to a member of my household.

I don't love spiders, but I wouldn't consider myself arachnophobic -- killing-bugs-o-phobic captures it a little better for me. If I see a spider, I move along my merry way, reminding myself that she's probably eating and killing the rest of the creepy-crawly things for me, so in that sense, we're friends. If I could just get her outta my way without touching her...

The other day, the girls and I were at my parents' house. They both went into the bathroom to do their business and wash their hands, when suddenly Peanut erupted with what sounded like a blood-gushing shriek and launched immediately into the stop-breathing cry that occurs with the worst of injuries. I sprinted to the bathroom and found Jellybean speechless and looking a bit dumbfounded while Peanut continued to gasp for her breath between sobs. There was no blood or missing teeth, so I implored Peanut to tell me what was the matter. She struggled to get one syllable out between each sob, so that when she pointed and I followed her finger and deciphered "spi....." SOB "...der," I figured it out. There was a spider sitting on the edge of the bathtub. And she wasn't hurt, she was just...arachnophobic. Wow. To be fair, it was a pretty big spider, and it caught her off guard. So I acknowledged her fear and we moved on (when I got my mom to remove the spider, natch).

Until a couple days ago. I sent Peanut up to her room to get a book for us to read. She was singing to herself, climbing the steps in her little 3-year-old world, when suddenly I heard that blood-gushing shriek and crying. I rushed up the stairs, afraid she had fallen on them. Instead, I found her pointing to a spider dangling from the handrail. Definitely arachnophobic. Not just a one-time deal. Never would've seen that one coming from Peanut.

Swimming update

Swim lessons have ended. Sigh, yet another sign that my favorite season is starting to wrap up. In case you were on the edge of your seat wondering how Jellybean and Peanut did in their second session of lessons, here's the update:

Peanut now goes under water! Not just her face in the water, but a full-on dunk down to the top of her head. The first time she did it, I feared she was drowning -- until she emerged with a big grin on her face. She still doesn't like to try to float on her stomach with her face in. But, her kicking is getting better and better, and she started backstroking with her arms on her own. I'm thrilled how far she has come.

Jellybean chose the very last lesson to decide to float. And she only did it once. I was happy with the number of lessons we had, until she had to go and do a new thing at the very end of the last lesson! Just one more lesson with a couple more floats, and she'd forget that she used to not be able to do that. I doubt she'll do it for L or me, but we'll keep trying when we go to the pool. The best thing from this session was the other little boy in her group. He kicked like the dickens, could get himself into a floating position, and was just the perfect example of confidence with skills in the water. Oh, I hope she remembers him!

All in all, I am nothing short of amazed that they went from afraid of water being above their necks to taking turns dunking their entire heads in the bath tub. Yea, summer!

OMG, kindergarten

Denial can be a happy place, really it can. I have been very happy this summer, doing all the summer things with the kids and enjoying our family being nearby. Happy, happy in denial-land, ignoring what is so rapidly approaching: the school year. Because, this year, the school year means something big for my little Jellybean. She's going to be in kindergarten.

There, I said it. I'm starting to emerge from that happy place called denial. Kindergarten is really going to happen. I have the school registration form and the school supplies to prove it. It's going to happen -- the question is, how? How is my little Jellybean going to go to that big school with all those kids for ALL-DAY kindergarten? She's so little and so innocent and still takes a nap a couple times a week, for heaven's sakes! Every time I think about it, I imagine Jellybean being so sweet and good at school, diligently listening to her teacher -- and then coming home at the end of the day and instantly transforming into a hungry, tired MONSTER. Even my daydreams can't conjure a different scenario.

And that's how she's going to be. What about me?! All these years of us hanging out together -- even when she was in preschool, we still had lunch together every day. A part of me is so thrilled she gets to go to such a wonderful school with all these great teachers and people. But the rest of me is just torn apart at the prospect.

I know so many moms who have sent their first kid to kindergarten in the past couple years. They've all told me all about it, given me advice to prepare me for when my own kid did the same. But, denial. I was still living so happily in denial. And now I no longer reside in denial. So, please, help me figure out how we're going to survive this transition.