So I just wrote a whole post about how Ethan's kindergarten doesn't start for a whole week after every other school in the area starts and what are we going to do for another whole week with each other while there's no one else to play with, I'm trying to pack a house and prepare for a move, and Husband's working late because its a crazy time at his work, and Ethan is so bored with me that all he does is whine and I'm running so low on patience that all I do is count to 10 and do the quiet, slow yell ("Ethan. Stop. Whining. Now. Now. Now!") and zOMG, next week is going to SUUUUUUUCK!!!!!
And then I read it back over and hated myself a little bit. I'd be lying if I said I'm not a little jealous of those moms who are going to get four hours to themselves tomorrow--even if all they're going to do with those four hours is watch or listen to something that isn't PBSkids (if I hear "Here we go! go! go! go! on an adventure! The Thingamajigger is up and away!!!" one. more. time.) while they clean the house and sort laundry, or if they are going to go to a business meeting without having to juggle childcare, or grocery shopping in peace. I'm a little jealous.
But still. These are the days, right? Some day when my surly teenager is rolling his eyes at me, I'm going to think back wistfully to the days that my little boy wanted nothing more than to spend his time with me (well, when he's not busy wanting playdates or snacks or toys). I will think fondly of the times we rubbed colored chalk on salt and made "sand art" and the times I wedged myself into the big green tubes on the play structure at the park so that we could pretend I was in the space ship, too, on my way to Mars with Ethan.
So next week is going to be a challenge. Boxes need to be packed, the house needs to be cleaned, and the child needs to be entertained, and those things don't always mix (although this weekend Ethan did a bang up job of washing windows and then insisted impatiently that he be able to scrub his own bathtub, getting testy when I asked him to please be patient and wait until I was done cleaning Mommy & Daddy's bathroom. Seriously.) In all honesty, it would be easier if I was dropping Ethan off at school for four hours so I could come home, listen to NPR and get into the packing zone, completely uninterrupted. But. I can't. And that's okay. I did buy a big bag of styrofoam packing popcorn last week (sorry ozone hole), so maybe tomorrow we'll find some way to make a craft out of them before I throw them into the boxes with the fragile stuff. Maybe I'll let him wash the kitchen floor (no, really, he wants to. He asks all the time) while I pack the china in the dining room.
Who knows? I'm all zen-ish about it right now, but I'm sure this week will have me pulling my hair out, and doing the slow quiet yell at Ethan after the 500th time he barges into the bathroom while I'm trying to pee. I'm sure I'll be looking at this school's paper work, quadruple checking that I have the dates right and he really isn't supposed to be there until next Monday.
But I'm also going to try to take a lot of deep breaths and think about 10 years from now when this bubbly, silly, giddy, attention-demanding boy could be a teenager who just wants to be alone in his room with his headphones or out with his friends, and count my blessings that for right now, at least for one more week before the barrage of new school, friends, and experiences sets in, he's all mine, and happy about it.