Not so funky fresh....

I'm in a funk. There. I've said it. A deep dark blue capital "F" funk. Which hopefully will explain my silence. Even if it doesn't, I'm funky, and not in a good way. Be warned.

I know it's Spring, and the fog should be lifting, and that if I waste Spring in a funk, it will soon be Summer, which puts me back in the funk because it's freakishly hot and I must remain lily white or risk more surgery, which my sweet husband has deemed I've reached my limit on.

But Spring also brings tax time, which I have tried to be cheery about, but it's the first year we've actually owed money, and when the Ms do something we do it big, and owe the GNP of some developing nations. Funkalicious.

I know that school is still in session, which should give me time to relax, but I'm funky because I have to figure out what to do with the summer, and these stay-at-home mothers are taking all of my spots in the good camps because they are maniacal organized, and I'm not.

And worst of all, do you realize that people actually finish a craft project? And have time to have their adorable children model it, and take fabulous photographs with witty blog entries? Seriously. I should take inspiration from these folks, but I'm not. I am, however, using them as excuse to shop for supplies, which I'll soon stack on top of the other unused supplies use for the project. And maybe finish it. And maybe be able to find the top of my desk afterwards. So there. Maybe the project will even be an interpretive piece on my funk. Double so there.

I think that the worst of it is because my neighborhood mom-friends are sailing through things like stomach flu and mumps rumors, report cards and kindergarten registration like it's a cake walk. Meanwhile, I'm making decisions for the boys based on the phrase "How bad could it be?" Anyone find the parenting book that endorses that one? Is it just the working moms who say these things? Because let me tell you, this is not something I've heard on the playground.

"How bad could it be?"

"We're just going to throw them in and see what happens."

"What the hell, we already have a therapist for one of them anyway, and I bet he'll take on the rest of them."

The teachers have said that W & F could benefit from an additional year of preschool. They are academically ready, but... They're Boys.

Seriously? Your rationale is based on the fact that they are boys. Sure am glad I took a day off from work for you to attend that enrichment training. Seriously.

Because the boys' birthday is in March, they're in that gray area of hold back. Summer moms get the luxury of the guilt-free decision. "Oh, she has a summer birthday," the other moms agree. "Definitely hold her. You'll be so happy."

But us? No knowing agreement here. We get the "Oh" commentary, with the expression your mother makes when you tell her you're moving in with the boy prior to marriage. "But they seem so.... Smart. But you know, boys are like that."

So I've had angst, and funk, and some wine, and more angst. And at the end of the day, we're going to throw them in. The classes are small, and I have to make some sort of decision, because they have to order books, you know, and registration was, like, 5 years ago. And never in a million years did I think that my parenting was going to be based on "how bad it could be", but there you are. Standing in the middle of the road, waiting for the truck to flatten you while you agonize over the decision. And in addition to the college fund, we'll be saving for the therapy our decision will ultimately cause. Maybe for us, maybe for them.

How bad could it be?