The first day of school

I had more than enough posts lined up this week without adding one about the first day of school to the list.

But then my sister left a comment recently about how much she likes the posts in which I smack you all in the face with a bunch of pictures of the kids. And since tomorrow my poor family will have to endure an Uncomfortable Truths post authored by Yours Truly, I decided that they have preemptively EARNED some pictures of the kids on their first day of school.

Everyone woke up right on time, which was a welcome treat. Nick said, "Well, of COURSE I'm excited TODAY. It's the first day of school. Gimme a week."

We took about 90 seconds to snap a few pictures in the driveway before we left, and you know there was ZERO chance that it could be uneventful. There had to be some horseplay.

But in general they were cooperative, so I can't complain. Too much.

I love how I managed to turn Nathaniel into a gutterhead. Don't know how I got him standing right there, but I did.

We had to leave Amelia in a crumpled, crying heap on the garage floor with Grayson, which broke my heart. She wanted to come with us and didn't understand why we were leaving her. I very nearly took a picture of it but 1) I didn't want to break your hearts, too; and 2) I didn't want you to report me to DHR.

The short drive to school (less than two miles) was punctuated by the rockin' sounds of Robin Thicke's Blurred Lines, one of their favorite songs that just happened to come on the radio when we were about halfway there. They were yelling, "Turn it up, Mommy! Turn it up!"

When we got to the front of the carpool line, they hurled quick goodbyes over their shoulders as they dashed out of the van ... they couldn't be bothered to give me a glance. One ...

 Two ...

Three.

And just like that, they were gone.

Except, did you notice the woman in the purple shirt coming over in the last picture? She was coming because we were holding up the whole line because Jake's leg got caught on something in the car. I thought it was his backpack strap, but I now believe -- after extensive research -- that it was the handle of Nathaniel's karate bag.

I was THAT MOM in the front of the carpool line who -- even after five years -- still held everyone else up on Day 1.

But cut me some slack, okay? I'd just had to watch six dimples walk away from me without so much as an "I love you" or "I'll miss you." I may have needed that extra 10 seconds of the view of the backs of their heads. For my sanity.