There were Lots of 6th graders. Lots of their moms and dads. Lots of sibs. The girls were mostly shrieking and hugging each other. The boys looked either totally cool or like deer in the headlights. Or both, depending on the moment.
Overwhelming. Awkward. Stressful. Overwhelmingly awkward and uber-stressful.
Let me pull something from the A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words file to illustrate my point. Here's what the inside of my head looked like:
My internal monologue went something like this:
"Oh, this is great! Look how bright and clean it all is! That teacher seems so nice, but of course he's nice cause all the parents are standing right here. When it's just him and the kids he'll probably call them names and throw chalk. Holy Hell what have I done? My kid will get eaten alive in here! Must save child. We'll head for the woods behind the school and subsist on leaf mold and water we filter through my sweater. That's it! We'll...oh look! They have a new auditorium! Pretty...."
If we (okay, I) survive this whole "parenting through the least favorite years of my own life" thing, I'm totally taking the "Becoming" out of the title of this blog. I will have achieved Badassity- or I will have become a valium addict.