A Night Without Leo That Was All About Leo

You know you’re a grown-up when you’re introduced as Mrs. (your last name here) to a principal.

I’m the mom of a kindergartner, a five-year-old, an actual kid, and yet, I still can’t quite wrap my brain around the fact that I’m a grown-up. Someone’s mom.

But enough about me. Last night was Leo’s night to shine, even though he wasn’t even there. It was the open house of his new school. There are five kids in the class (he attends “specials”—music, art, P.E., library) and eats lunch/goes to recess with the general ed kindergarten.

Two other parents came, so not a terrible showing. I always think of my mom during school open houses. A veteran, resigned, sometimes cranky but also deeply committed elementary school teacher, she groused annually about the inevitably horrific attendance at open house night, to say nothing of the parent that once showed up drunk. (True story.)

As far as I could tell there were no drunk parents last night.

For starters, I love Leo’s teacher. What’s not to love about a woman who signs her notes home to the parents “Educationally yours?” She is energetic and enthusiastic and patient and creative and not to get all Disney movie but when she talks about the kids, she seriously gets a twinkle in her eye.

As she spoke about the daily schedule I let my eyes wander around the classroom. It’s cluttered but organized. Kitschy autumn wreaths and scarecrows straight from Michael’s adorned one bulletin board; a table in the corner featured “everything about apples.” They’re doing a unit on apples, so there was apple sauce, dried apple snacks and of course, apples.

And everything in the room is labeled. A woman who enjoys a label maker as much as I do is a woman I can stand behind. We were able to sit at Leo’s little desk and look through his folders and notebooks. The older he gets, the easier it is to comprehend him having a life apart from us (at school for now, in many years, who knows where?). In second grade, Leo will start learning Spanish, as well as begin learning the recorder, in preparation for an instrument of his choice.

Leo is the youngest in the class by far, and being the “new kid” there was plenty of talk about him. He was pronounced “popular” by both the teacher and the aide (what can I say? Music to a parent’s ear) and every teacher/therapist/school official I was introduced to immediately exclaimed “Oh! Your Leo’s mom! (in a good way) when they learned who I was. He does have a certain presence, a way of making himself known by all.

Erin and I surreptitiously skipped out on the PTA meeting that followed the classroom presentations (I haven’t decided if I want to get involved this year but I’ll certainly write the checks for whatever they need).

We used the babysitter as an excuse to extend the evening into cheap, bad Chinese food, eaten under disturbingly bright fluorescent lights. It was the first time Erin and I had eaten a meal out (such as it was), without the kids, in months. We tried our best not to talk about either of the kids too much, but of course, Leo kept coming up. I think we were both on a little high.

Our boy is doing well. He’s happy. He works hard and people like him. Tomorrow that could all change. But last night, over Szechuan tofu and shrimp lo mein, that was all I needed to know.