I cannot go to school.

It's an odd juxtaposition... being pregnant while tragic things happen every day. The shooting in Oregon, reading stories online about the Syrian refugees, and I just heard this 13-year-old youtube sensation died of "natural causes" out of nowhere a few days ago.  It could be that I'm just paying attention to the tragedy that happens every day, or maybe it's just that there is more tragedy happening every day.  My mom was here over the weekend and reminded me of the year her family has had - full of loss, diagnoses and transition.  Far away, close to home, I feel so much gratitude for my life and also heavy to bring a new little human into the world. I looked at Ben the other night and said, "promise me you will do good when you get older.  Promise me you will always try to help people." I sniffed his hair extra long and traced his flawless skin, soaking in every minute of his perfect form.

Kindergarten is still a struggle for Ben.  I imagine he thinks he is clever, concocting a plan to try to get out of going hours before school starts.  His best attempt yet happened a couple of weeks ago.

"Mom I can't go to school, I hate it.  It's a waste of time and I think I should be in first grade because I'm six, and I don't like having two teachers, and I don't feel well."  And then the big tears start forming in his beautiful blue eyes.

"Ok, well why don't we just get dressed."

"No.  Mom, I'm not kidding.  I'm not going.  I also am just really sad at school.  I cry at my desk and my work gets wet.  I miss you.  It's too long to be away from you."

My heart... whether it's strategic or not, he's going for my heart.

"I'll tell you what.  Let's put a picture of us in your lunchbox, and a small stuffed animal that you love in your backpack.  Would that help?"

We searched around for a photo that could fit into a plastic bag to avoid getting yogurt spooged, and a small stuffed dog that he would just know was in his bag for comfort.  OK, I thought.  He is totally set now...

He got some clothes on and started weeping. Quietly crying, he explained that he still, in fact, could not go to school.  We talked about being brave, about it being hard for most of the kids, and about how it would actually be ok.  He wasn't buying it.

"Hmm.... I have a bracelet.  It matches mine.  What if you wear it, and every time you feel sad, you can rub it, or tug on it and it can send me a message and I'll tug mine so that you feel all of my special love?"

Ok.  He agreed.  This was progress.  The bracelet with teal and clear jewels was tied tightly around his tiny wrist.

"I like this, but it doesn't smell like you, mom.  I want to smell like you.  I want to feel like you are right next to me."

He had to be kidding.  What do I even smell like, other than b.o. and weird pregnancy hormone sweaty smell.  I didn't want to smell me.

"Would you like a squirt of my perfume?  Or some of my lotion?"

"No.  Cut a piece of your shirt.  That way it will smell like you right now."

Luckily I had on a raggedy old tank top and easily sliced off a little of the bottom.  This was desperation.  I CUT MY SHIRT.  He sniffed it, approved, and put it in his pocket.

"I feel good about all my stuff mom, but I just don't feel great.  I think I'm sick! I really do!  I'm not even lying.  I am sick.  Yep.  Sick."

"Well, if you feel sick at school, call me and I will come get you."  It seemed logical since he didn't have a fever and wasn't projectile vomiting.  Isn't there a school nurse or something?

"NO MOM.  They don't let me call!  I won't be able to call you!"  Now hysterical, I could see the panic on his face.  Panic I had felt as a child when I didn't feel heard or understood.  That feeling of knowing that you could call, but having the teacher call your bluff and you sit quietly feeling like a prisoner whose sentence was just extended.

"I'll write you a note that says you can call me.  Ok?!"

A pep talk, a photo, a stuffed dog, a love bracelet, a piece of my clothing, a note in his pocket.... what else could I put on him?  What else could I do?

"I'm not going."  Tears.  Sad face.  Arms crossed.  Defiance.

At that point I was out of tricks.  Ben is a 55 lb, 4'3" kindergartner and I'm weeks away from giving birth.  There simply was no way I could force him into the car and into his classroom.  I was at a loss.  It felt like the old days of him being 3 years old and completely irrational.  I've totally taken logical conversations for granted.  We were 30 minutes late, I wasn't going to let him stay home, and I was totally frustrated.

"Ok, Ben.  You go to school, I'll buy you any Lego set you want when I pick you up at the end of the day.  ANY ONE YOU WANT.  Deal?"

"It's weird mom, I feel a lot better.  I think I'll be able to make it."

He went to school.  Late.  Loaded with love.  And he got the coolest Lego set Fred Meyer had to offer after his full day at kindergarten.

I got worked.

Where'd I put that swatter?

I met my first gnat.  I'm borrowing this term perfectly detailed from that book Where'd You Go, Bernadette that was popular a few summers ago.  It was my sister, actually, who reminded me of these gnats.

"Omigod you met a gnat!  Remember, in that book about that lady in Seattle that didn't mow her lawn or something and all the moms at school were mean to her?!"

My first gnat wasn't mean to me.  She was just kind of mean in general.

We are new to the neighborhood and the start of kindergarten felt like my first day of school as well.  What would I wear?  What moms would I meet and in 10 years be able to look back and say, "I can't believe we've been friends since the first day of kindergarten!"  Kindergarten, round two, that is.  Because, I remind myself, I am not actually the one in school anymore.  It's difficult to remember this when all of those old familiar smells come rushing back and the nerves of "will they like me?" feel like they've never left.

So back to this gnat.  She buzzed around on the first day of school and already knew half of the parents.  How did she do that?  Was there a secret meet up that I totally missed?  Her hair and outfit were perfect, as was her son's.  We made small talk and I explained we were new to the neighborhood.  She told me how much I was going to like it and how wonderful the families are around here.  Other mom's chimed in and before long I felt like I was going to have a new crew in no time.

She invited us over for a playdate.  I screenshotted the text and sent it to my mom and sister.  "LOOK!  A potential friend!"  I confirmed the playdate and got excited.

My son Ben and I pulled our little car into a humongous driveway in front of an even bigger house.  "Wow mom.  Nice house."  We both felt little.  "Yes, it's big. Let's go check it out!  I bet they have all kinds of fun stuff to play with."

"HI GUYS!  Welcome!  We are a 'no shoe house' so you can just leave them right here... come on in! Jensen is super excited to play with you.  He's upstairs."  Ben shot me a glance and made his way up the spiral staircase.

"Can I get you some water?  You remember my husband from orientation night... Chad.  Chad this is Allie."  With zero eye contact, Chad murmured something in my direction that I think was a greeting.

"Hey Chad!  Good to see you again. Yes, you were wearing the same shirt as my husband!  Funny... small world.  Love that shirt." He stared at me. I get uncomfortable around men who aren't overly friendly (ok, or friendly at all).  They remind me of my dad who was unpredictable and angry about anything and everything.  I always feel like I'm about to get into big trouble.  Again, I felt little.

"Ok I'm going to the gym.  Drink wine and put the kids to bed by 8:00," he instructed.  It may have been my imagination, but I swear he threw his shoulders back extra far to look bigger and buffer as he strutted out of the living room.  If he'd dropped his pants right there and asked me if I wanted to see how big his dick was, I wouldn't have been surprised.

"Loveyoubye!" she called after her husband.

Big Dick was gone.

We settled into the bar in the kitchen and drank our ice waters, two stools in between us.

She filled me in on who was who, where to eat, issues with the playground, and lots about private school.

"Ya, we can't eat anywhere in a strip mall... Chad doesn't like how the outside of restaurants in strip malls look.  It's too bad, too, because there are so many good places in some of these strip malls."  I felt confused because I've never really seen a "strip mall" in our area.  There are businesses next to each other in a parking lot... maybe she's talking about those?

"It's like, we wouldn't have issues with mohawk kids in private school, you know?  This public school is supposed to be so good, so we are trying it out.  It's a huge risk!  I've already talked to the principal twice about some of the kids' behavior.  I can only imagine what kind of families these kids come from if they're picking on kindergartners... and have mohawks."

"I get something delivered from Nordstrom every day... it's like, if I'm home with the kids, I need to feel like I'm shopping.  The FedEx guy is my friend."

She kept going.

"Your younger son will have to go to the private preschool on the hill.  It's THE only one.  Like, seriously.  You should call right now and see if there's space..."

He's still in my uterus, but I'll check it out.

Ben came downstairs and, on the verge of tears, asked to speak with me.  "Mom, Jensen and his little sister just locked me in his room and refused to let me out.  I'm done with the playdate and I never want to come here again."  Ben is a pacifist.  He's never really been in big trouble and isn't one to start conflict.  He's also a real trooper and this was a first.  I was relieved to hear we were totally on the same page.  I felt like I had been locked in a room of standards and gossip and while it can be fun at times, it was clear that this mom was not "my people."

"Shoot!  Ben said his stomach is killing him.  I'm so sorry, but we have to run.  Thanks so much for having us over!"

We found our shoes at the entrance of the no shoe house and practically ran to our little car in the big driveway.

"I hated that."  Ben prides himself on being honest.

"I did too.  Let's remember that it's important to be kind, Ben.  You attract more bees with honey."

I'd rather hang with bees than gnats.