"I want gel in my hair like the older boys," says Aaron.
"Okay... you can have gel. Just hold on a minute," I reply, slightly stressed.
Translation: Pollito is screaming his head off, I'm in the process of changing Candi's diaper, and Diego (mysteriously enough) has not only managed to misplace his shorts that he just had on, but now is wearing his underwear inside and out backwards.
"Diego, turn your pants around. Candi... just a minute, honey, we're almost done...
don't touch the wipes! Pollito,
please, please stop screaming or I'm going to stuff a sock in your mouth. Aaron, don't grab the..."
[Crashes, thuds, as the entire top shelf of the diaper stand rains on the floor around Aaron, who stands amazed, clutching the bottle of hair gel in his hand.]"... hair gel. [Sigh.] Okay... it's alright. Put all these back on there."
Candi, clean and tidy now, gets deposited on the floor, Diego has found the missing shorts and turned his pants around, Pollito has become absorbed in how many times he can hit himself in the head with the hairbrush before it really hurts, and Aaron waits patiently as I try to comb the sticking, ickiness of the new hair gel into some semblance of "coolness."
Finally, fingers still pasted together from the superglue hair gel, I whirl to snatch the glass of water from the side-table that Pollito is about to dump over his head, yell to Diego to put on his sandals for the fifth time in two minutes (he just keeps forgetting, you know), lift Candi into the baby carriage using only my elbows since the other hands are still in bondage to hair gel and water, and slide Aaron's backpack to him using my foot as I run to the bedroom to wash my hands, change, and then scurry out the door.
The clock reads 8:13. Pre-planned time of departure? 8:15. Going to happen? Probably not.
Three minutes later, tossing my purse over my shoulder (and Pollito into the stroller), we hit the door running, Diego and Aaron clinging to the sides of the carriage, trying not to be scraped off against doorjams and fences. We make the comedor at 8:17, I grab the keys for the green truck, and we scurry out the back, Pollito and Candi (now dethroned from the baby stroller) dangling from my palms as we crunch and slide across the rough gravel.
One, two, three, four... "Pollito, sit down!" back to three, okay, finally four in their seats, I rush around the front of the truck, smack into the rearview window with my shoulder, clamber in, slam the door (which gets stuck and hasn't closed all the way), and we're off.
The highway in front of the orphanage is unusually busy and we sit for three or four minutes trying to edge out into traffic, Pollito and Candi squealing with delight and terror as the huge semi trucks flash before their eyes like giant, metallic sharks grinding past their noses, rocking our vehicle with their tail-winds. We manage to pull out, tires spinning in the gravelly incline, and shoot off down the road.
8:22.
We hit the topes (Mexican speed bumps which incite my slightly-open-and-making-that-annoying-rattling-noise door to a fever pitch), to which it is expected that I will yell, "Boom!" for all 25 bumps, only to have to slow down for the huge trailer in front of us navigating each bump like it's a drop-off cliffside mountain trail (maxing himself out at 10 mph), which does put a bit of a damper on the "boom!" game, I must say. More like a drawn out, "booo-oooo-oooo-ooom-uh."
Highly disappointing.
Passing the "booms," we hit both red lights, screech around the corners, pull up at the school (right by a telephone line that I didn't see, and which prevents Aaron from being able to open his door all the way, so I have to wedge myself in and extract him bit by laborious bit), and finally get out. Locking the doors, I hear Candi and Pollito start screaming in unison... beautiful.
8:28. Yesssssssssssssssss [insert Napoleon Dynamite fist-clenched gesture of winning].
I, of course, want to take pictures of his first day wearing his full uniform, and make him stand under the sign to snap a couple photos, in which he strikes an embarrassed pose (who wouldn't? I hated those pictures in front of school where people could actually see me. Does this mean I'm turning into my mother??? Love you, Mom... lol) and then runs to the gate to get inside.
"Aaron! Aaron!" I try to get his attention, so I can take a picture of him in the schoolyard...
No such luck. He runs and hides behind the slide, completely avoiding my gaze, and then bolts into his classroom like a big, scary, picture-taking monster is chasing him. Which, indeed, I was.
Ahhh... school has begun. ;)
The truck-load on the way to school in the mornings. These are two photos out of about 15 that somehow just didn't seem to work in getting all four to look at the camera at the same time.
Aaron in front of his school's sign... notice the embarrassed foot lift??? I didn't really notice the graffiti on the wall until after I took the pictures, but it's really not a hoodlum school... :)
Inside the school's play area... you can't see Aaron because he was... well, hiding.
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