More on Middle School

. . . because I'm not done yet.

I reread what Roxane wrote and, I see now, she was agreeing with me that the school IS out in the middle of nowhere. I'm in such a tizzy, I don't know if I am coming or going.

Colin is fine with all of this, by the way. I made him go out with me again yesterday and practice his locker combination. He didn't get it the first time probably because I was shouting, "RIGHT!! RIGHT!! NO! WAIT! I MEAN LEFT!! LEFT!!" I told him I would be quiet and he got it perfectly the next time.

Then Daniel found an adult scissors and started running around in circles. I don't want to talk about it. I just froze on the spot and prayed this silent prayer, "Please, God. Please, please, please, please, please." Colin tackled him and I wrestled away the scissors.

The "middle school" is actually just the fifth and sixth grade. Consolidated elementary schools crowded that group out to the high school. They are in a separate wing and can be completely shut off from the rest of the school except when they have to go to the other side of the building for music.

The one teacher I had at my pre-consolidated high school who is still teaching (Brent's are all dead. I'm kidding . . . um . . . sort of. They are, by and large, dead.) will be Colin's choir teacher this year. When I introduced him to my son, I promised that Colin would be better behaved than I was. I'm sure this is true. I wasn't a bad kid, but I may have had a bit of an attitude.

I thought Colin was going to have to take a different bus home than he had been, but I learned today this is not true. It was going to be the one last thing, I just could not handle. Too much change. Too much. And then, it turned out I was panicking for nothing -- as, I suspect, will be true of most of my concerns this school year.

I guess if one of us has to be a little worried, a little shall we say . . . okay . . . psycho about this, I'm glad it's me. Colin should be glad for a change of scenery. He should be excited about a new school year. He should be confident he can handle it.

And I should, definitely, have my little panic attacks alone where he can't see.