~ Regression ~

I went to my Varmint’s future Middle School tonight for their Parent’s Information Night.  She’ll be in 6th grade next year, and will be attending this pretty darn good school.

I’ll be honest, she’s worried about remembering the locker combination.

But she’s not concerned about having to get up at 6:00 every morning.

I am.

And she’s not concerned about finding her way to each classroom.

I am.

And she’s not concerned about being able to handle the workload.

I am.

In fact, during this entire presentation, I was tachycardic (my heart was racing). My palms were sweating.  My stomach was in knots.  I kept reliving old middle school traumas I suffered back in the late ’70s and early ’80s.

I’m not even sure what the presentation covered.  All I could see were the faces of kids who were staring aghast at me when I laughed so hard spaghetti came out of my nose during one lunch period back in 7th grade.

And then I was transported to eighth grade, where there was that one very strange boy who everyone picked on, but I felt sorry for, so I went up to him one day to talk to him, but he wouldn’t even acknowledge my existence.  I was crushed.  The school outcast wouldn’t even talk to me.  Where did that put me on the pecking order?

And then suddenly I was reliving the five year crush that started in 7th grade.   Ah…. the crush….THE crush….Kevin was his name.  Oh he was so yummy to look at.  He had no interest in me at all because I was such a dork.  All legs and belly and braces.  But I dreamed about him.  And I would fantasize about what it would be like if he held my hand.  I began my own little middle school version of stalking. It got to the point that if he saw me coming, he would look really busy and walk very fast past me.

And look scared.

I still have that effect on people.

Back at the Parent’s Information presentation, I found myself clicking my pen over and over again while the principal talked about something that had to do with advanced math classes.  All the other parents were listening intently.  Me, I had no idea what in the blazes she was talking about.  All I could do was sit there in my palpitating heartbeat, sweat-ridden angst, praying it would be over soon.

Varmint has no idea what she is getting into.

When I got home, she asked how it went and what they talked about.

“Oh it was fine, honey. Just parent stuff. Nothing you need to worry about.” I replied, confident in my innate parental ability to lie directly to my child.

“Why is your shirt soaking wet?”

“It’s not.”

“Yes it is.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Yes, Mom, it is.”

“Go to bed.”

I’m not ready for her to go to Middle School.