Little kids can't go back to school in August.
In the desert.
When it's a monsoon.
They will be hot.
They will be scared.
I've been worrying about this.
A little bit.
Okay, technically, I've been worried about this a lot. Seriously people. It is so hot here the dirt in my garden actually burns your feet if you happen to forget your shoes and go out there in your barefeet in an attempt to keep your pumpkin seedlings alive.
So I woke up Mr. Jenny to talk to him about it.
He pretended he was asleep at 1:43 am.
I poked him.
He made a noise like a hoot owl being mangled by a chain saw.
I poked him again.
"Huh? What? What time is it?!?" he grumbled.
"It doesn't really matter, does it? Time is kind of subjective anyway, right?"
He didn't reply. I think he went back to sleep.
I poked him again.
"HUH? Why are you poking me? It's the middle of the night."
I decided to forego my lecture on the fact that, technically, it was morning in some parts of the world.
I thought that might be too esoteric of a discussion for that early hour.
"Can we talk for a second?" I very sweetly asked.
"Can I say no?" he replied.
That man is grumpy in the middle of the night.
"Okay, thanks!" I'm pretty sure he meant to say, "Of course, sweetie, I am always here for you", but somehow his words got garbled.
"I can't believe the girls are starting school on Wednesday. It is too hot. We live in a desert. They will have heat stroke. They are too little. Morgan is only five. She can't go to kindergarten. She isn't ready! She will be too hot! We live in a desert! She will be scared! She..."
"Jenny," he said trying to interrupt me.
"Seriously, she is only five. It is too hot out. She will get sick! She's not ready..."
"Jenny. What's this about?"
I think he becomes hard of hearing at 1:43 am.
"Are you not listening to me! Morgan is too little to start kindergarten. It's hot! We live..."
Mr. Jenny turned toward me in the dark and interrupted me. "I know...we live in a desert. And it's hot. And Morgan is ready to go to school."
"Well..." I stuttered, "It's not just that. It's that..."
"She's ready," he said again more firmly. "You're just not ready to let her go."
He was totally right.
Although it is too hot and we do live in a desert and maybe the school kids will have heat stroke and they are all possibly too little to go to school, Miss Mo is now five.
And she is ready.
She has her twirly clothes and her backpack and her hot pink water bottle. She has her crayons and her markers and her glue sticks.
She is totally ready.
...not so much.
I'm really, really struggling with her starting school. I've been Grandma daycare for almost 9 1/2 years now.
So I thought I'd share my worries with you.
And I even tried to wake you up at 1:43 am to tell you about it.