What am I afraid of? Kid, you don't know the half of it

We were in the car the other day, my son and I.

"Mom," he said. "What are you afraid of?"

What am I afraid of?  Ugh. He has no idea. Frankly, I wish I didn't, either.

I'm having surgery in a couple of days - I'm not a good patient. I have a very low pain tolerance. I'm pretty much afraid of doctors, afraid of hospitals, afraid of needles, afraid of blood, afraid of paper gowns that don't close correctly in back, afraid of just about everything except the anesthesiologist, whom I adore.

The fact that I actually gave birth to two children still gives people pause. My epithets, complaints and strange demands are likely still legendary at the maternity ward in Springfield, Mo.

But I look back at my son's beautiful, trusting eyes, and, somehow, I don't think this is the answer he's looking for.

"Um, snakes," I say. "I'm kind of afraid of snakes."

He smiled. "I'm a little afraid of heights," he told me, and sat back.

Sigh. Maybe as long as there's no snakes in the operating room, I'll be okay.

Summer vacation isn't just for kids - parents love it, too

My eyes flew open at 7 a.m. today, and I could feel the panic rising even before I sat up in bed. Okay, okay, I told myself. So we missed the bus. Not the end of the world. I'd get everyone up and going, fix a quick breakfast and ...

Oh, wait. No. I wasn't late, hadn't overslept. I hadn't missed the bus because the bus wasn't coming.

It was the first day of summer vacation. Finally! I sat back with a sigh of relief. But ... what a strange feeling, to have the morning to myself. It's so peaceful, so full of possibilities.

I could catch up on housework. I could read the paper, enjoy a leisurely cup of coffee on the deck. I could even get in some writing time before heading off to work. Summer vacation - even these brief morning hours - is wonderful, and not just for the kids.

But this morning, I confess, I simply went back to sleep. And I enjoyed every minute of it.

New Kindergartners Day brings on wave of nostalgia ... or is it more like envy?

Timmy the Timberwolf should have tipped me off.

Timmy is the mascot for our elementary school, and he was out the other morning at the front door of the school, smiling and waving in his furry costume. I was hurrying back to my car, wondering why the parking lot was so full and why parents were rushing in when I was rushing out. I noticed then that all the children coming in looked little, and all the parents looked harried.

It hit me then: It must be New Kindergartners Day.

As I stopped and watched, the nostalgia hit me like a wave. I remembered when my kids were that little. I remembered how excited I was to see the inside of the kindergarten room, how nervous I was to meet the teacher, how hopeful I was that she'd recognize all the qualities that made my child so special.

I wanted to stop these parents, the ones who looked so rushed and annoyed. I wanted to tell them to slow down, to enjoy this, to store it in their mind's eye so they could enjoy it later. In fact, I wished they were enjoying it now.

I wanted to remind them that even though it seems like these days - when your kids are silly and messy and constantly underfoot - last forever, they'll be gone in a heartbeat.

But I used to hate it when more experienced parents used to do that to me. I would stare at them through my bleary, sleep-deprived eyes and simply nod. "Yeah, right," I'd think, when they'd gush over my adorable children and tell me to savor these precious times. "Whatever."

I took the car seat out of my van last week. My son is just too big for it; he doesn't need it. By the way, he doesn't need to hold my hand any more on the way into school, either.

So maybe it wasn't nostalgia hitting me so hard that morning. Maybe it was envy.