This year amidst the purchases of 30 glue sticks, 6 boxes of crayons, hand sanitizers, and boxes of tissue, I’ve also been stockpiling Benadryl and Epi-Pen Juniors. You see my littlest is severely allergic to peanuts and tree nuts. So for the first time instead of being completely happy at the sight of the school bus yellow bins of art supplies and pencils, I also have to fight the urge to begin hyperventilating just at the prospect of walking my child into a classroom of her fellow peers. I like kids, but honestly I love mine best. I’ve always said that everyone prefers their own brand of crazy, and I wholeheartedly prescribe to that philosophy. I accept that what passes for normal at my house might make others cringe, but we get by just fine together. The problem comes in when I think about leaving my baby in the clutches of her grubby classmates, because while my kid often has dirty knees and has ketchup in her hair at least twice a week, I’m willing to bet there’s someone else’s kid who needs to have the PBJ washed out of theirs at night. My oldest used to be that way until the new regime came into our lives, so I know I’m not completely dreaming to believe those kids are out there.
I used to enjoy a PBJ sandwich myself, many years ago, before Mr. Peanut and all his tree nut friends were cast as the villains in our little family’s story. Now we live by a new code. It is largely unspoken in our house, but it goes something like this… do whatever it takes to keep my baby breathing! I know it sounds melodramatic, and admittedly it is a highly emotional situation for me, but I’m not exaggerating. Our oldest turned into the Nut Nazi at the age of four, because he knew big brothers protect little sisters. I’ve seen him stand toe to toe with an adult on many occasions and quiz them on the origins of a baked good before turning down a cupcake or chocolate candy, because his sister couldn’t have one too. We’ve changed our entire lives to protect and insulate our family as much as possible.
It’s scary and terrifying, but I’m doing my best to make sure I don’t show that on the outside to my kids. Mom and Dad are the adults and we’re supposed to have all the answers after all, so after a very productive conversation with our wonderful school principal this spring I’m left to stock pile preventative medicines and laminate emergency contact info before our first day.
Yes, I said OUR FIRST DAY, because anyone who thinks I’ll be capable of being remotely productive on that first day has noodles for brains. I won’t let my kids see me. I’ll find a quiet janitor’s closet to hide away and practice my long forgotten Lamaze breathing or perhaps I’ll walk the track while clutching my phone the entire time. Regardless I’ll be close by, praying she won’t need me or the stock piled emergency medicines.
So this year I think I deserve a treat. I’ve already picked it out. These new fine point Sharpies sound like my kind of must-have. If you need us, me and the Sharpies will be the in the Janitors closet.
