Finn’s first day of school; four-year-old preschool, was last Tuesday.  I am still flooded with all the emotions that I have not felt in over a decade.

New markers!

New clothes!

Oh, shit.  I e’ffing hate school; why can’t it be summer forever?

All that, and the anxiety over the uncertainty of the next nine months…  Who would be in my classes?  Would I like my teachers?  Would I fit in?  Would I be forced to be lab partners with that girl that I cannot stand?  Or maybe Tony?  That cute sophomore?  That would be acceptable.

And what was my locker combination again?

Finn has a ways to go before he has to worry about all those problems (which now seem so ridiculously trivial but were major points of contention for a sixteen-year-old girl).  He felt the pressure all the same – back to school takes its toll on even the littlest scholar.

For example, his teacher informed me that he was spitting on another kid.

SPITTING?  I mean, the kid can totally be an a-hole when he wants to be, but I’ve never seen him SPIT on another person before.

“Finn?!?  You spit on another kid??”

“Actually, it was two kids.”  He sighs and wrinkles his nose.  His shoulders slump but he holds my eyes as if to say; Those kids were douchebags, Mom, and I totally had to assert my dominance.  Bow to The Finny.

I come to find out he was blowing raspberries at two of the other boys – which, I know my “Overprotective-My-Kid-Can-Do-No-Wrong” is showing, but that is NOT spitting.  Not that I told him that, though.  Nathan and I gave him a stern talking to and he promised not to do it again.

Upon dropping him off on the second day of class, I start to notice a pattern.  All the other parents are noticing how smart he is…  I know, he’s my kid, but everyone is asking me if he is three.  Part of being a parent is being able to judge the age of every child within a year of your own, and how they measure up to your kiddo.  When you ask a fellow parent how old their kid is, what you really mean is: I’m pretty sure my kid is smarter than yours, but allow me to double-check.

Turns out, he is in the wrong class.  No wonder why everyone thinks he a genius – he is a year older than everyone else.  And I was told he was “spitting/raspberry-ing” again, and wasn’t listening to the teacher.

We moved him into the right class, and so far, we have had nothing but good news.  And praise for how SMART he is.  Even for a four-year-old.