Mama bear

It hit me yesterday after Griffin was safely in his classroom, and I was free to wander around the school with my thoughts. I had never fought so hard for anything before. I had never cared so much for anything before. Just getting here alone was a two-month-long struggle against everything comfortable, routine, and easy. Then when the school assessed him the first time and incorrectly said that he was completely unschooled and wanted to put him a class with the 3-year-olds, I was awoken. I realized that this was the time that I had to start fighting for my son. So I called the school and demanded a retest, and the next morning at 8:00, he was reassessed and admitted into the 4-year-old class.

Later that day we went to buy uniforms in a tiny room with floor-to-ceiling shorts and shirts cryptically organized and labeled. There were parents and children wall-to-wall, and I had no idea what we needed to buy or what sizes we needed. With the help of a lady in the store, we left two hours later with three pairs of tartan shorts, five white polo shirts, swimming trunks, canvas gym shorts, a green hat (to represent the Balmoral house Griffin was placed in), a swimming cap, two pairs of shoes (one for daily wear and one for athletic), white socks, and navy socks.

The newness of this experience was overwhelming and exhilarating at the same time. I had never bought a school uniform before, let alone in a foreign country. I know nothing about the British school system. How am I supposed to know all of this?! We'll add this to the long list of things I should have been trained on before becoming a mom.

To add to my feeling of getting things accomplished in unknown territory, I was doing all of this running around in taxis. It made me feel very urban and weirdly in control.

Our next stop was the Hyper Panda supermarket to get his lunch box and trolley bag (both with Lightening McQueen on them). I had promised Griffin we would do this today after I sent him to his first morning of school without a snack. The front office had told me that he didn't need any food, so we didn't send any. When I picked him up at eleven o'clock, he was sitting at a table with no food and a perma-frown while all of the other children were snacking happily. When he came to me, he was crying, “Why didn't I have a snack!?” For the rest of his life he'll remember that on his first day of school, he was the only one without a uniform and without a snack. He won't remember all the sacrifices we made to move him to a country where he could get an better education. He won't remember that I fought to get him reassessed so that he could be in a class that was appropriately challenging. He won't remember that we had a mother/son date right after school in which we ate Annie's pretzels and chocolate ice cream with sprinkles. He'll remember that his mommy didn't pack him a snack on his first day of school. And that perfectly summarizes parenthood. You love your child more than anything else in the universe, and you are constantly sorting through choices deciding which course will be better for your child in the short and long run. And it feels like the harder you try, the more you fuck up.

So we got the trolley bag (with wheels that light up!), the lunch box, and everything that goes with it, and all was happy. Then we had to take a shuttle back to the hotel. We waited with our heavy bags of uniforms, shoes, and groceries, and eventually the bellhop escorted us to the shuttle van. Ahh. Our last journey in this very long day. We were comfy and buckled in, and this lady came up and started yelling that she had been waiting for thirty minutes, and why did we get the van. I saw her and one other girl, so I said, “There's room; come on in!” She ungratefully said to me, “Yes, because we have been waiting.” So they moved us to the back of the van, and then they said they wanted to sit in the back, so can we move to the front, then when we moved to the front, it turned out to be five of them instead the two I initially saw. By the time they were all in, there was no seat for Griffin, and I said, “It's not safe! He needs a seat!” The queen bitch said, “No, I am sitting here because I am with child, and it is not safe for me.” So Griffin is standing in the middle with nowhere to sit while all of these ladies are filling up the van. The busboys then quickly escorted us out of the van, took our bags, and put us in another shuttle. I was mad about how rude and ungrateful the women were because I didn't have to invite them in; I was being kind. They were taking their anger for waiting out on us. And again, I had to stand up and fight for Griffin's well-being.

Nevertheless, Griffin and I made it safely back to the hotel where we got settled in for the evening. I washed his uniforms and got him prepped for his first full day of school, which was this morning. We got him up and dressed in his uniform, and he is proud to wear it. I packed his new lunch box complete with coveted thermos and snack. I had even found a cool Lightening McQueen sandwich box with a little tray that sits on top so you can put food on the bottom and top levels. He has a cheese sandwich and Babybel cheese on the bottom level, then on the top are carrots (which he won't eat, but I included so the teachers think I'm a good mom), and pretzels. He hasn't seen his lunch yet, so it will all be a surprise when he opens it.

So this morning he was too excited to eat, but it's okay because he has a snack and lunch, right? Then it occurred to me about twenty minutes after Woody and Griffin left that Griffin doesn't know there are two levels in the sandwich box! He may just see the pretzels and carrots and not get enough to eat!

And again, this is what it is to be a parent. It's a good exercise on succeeding and failing everyday. Good school – check. Right class – check. Uniforms – check. Lunch box, bag, and thermos – check, check, check. Assured nutrition and sustenance for a seven-hour school day – big fat fail. But bright side (because I'm bound to positivity since getting that damn tattoo), he'll learn to eternally search for hidden compartments in everything.

P.S. Sorry about the periods at the beginnings of sentences. Blogger has sensed our move, and everything's in Arabic, including the page layout, which types from right to left.