The tall kid is officially deposited at the Middle School, also known as Heroin, Knives and Bullies R Us.
I’m okay with it. Really. So my baby has to spend seven hours a day, five days a week in that cesspool. Okay. I didn’t spend all of yesterday on the brink of tears. I didn’t drop him off this morning and then go make squeaky, sobbing noises into the Dunkin Donuts drive-thru speaker. (Tangent—WTF is “thru”? You drive through the parking lot without going in. Drive-through.)
He’s embarking on the hardest, scariest, most confusing years of his life and there’s not. One. Damn. Thing. I can do about it. I’m okay with that, really I am.
I’m not okay. I need chocolate and salt. Hershey’s Kisses with a Pringle chaser.
EDIT: Two hours later:
I just hugged my little sister goodbye. She’s leaving for college in Florida this afternoon and we won’t see her til Christmas break.
I already ate the short kid’s chocolate donut. I need more.