School Is Now in Session-Get your forms in NOW!
School has started and mothers everywhere are happy and sad. Happy that the kids are now safely away from 9-3 every day and sad because now the daily homework/sports/lessons grind begins for another year.
I am mostly happy so far. For two mornings now, I've gotten up at 0700, gotten myself clean and dressed and then chased the kids into their clothes. They leave at 8:15 for their 3 minute walk to school and I pull out of the driveway at 8:30. The system seems to work even with the additional task of putting together some semblance of lunch for both kids.
My daughter likes chocolate sandwiches. I'm waiting for some other mother or perhaps some diligent aid to notice that my daughter eats candy for lunch each day. All right, it's not chocolate exactly--it's Nutella, but despite the "cosmopolite" touch I still consider it candy. I first ate Nutella with fresh banana slices on hot -off -the- griddle crepes--in Paris. Now you can buy huge American-sized vats of Nutella at Costco. C'est la vie.
Kid 2 eats about 2 ounces of thinly sliced ham each day for lunch. He finishes off with 3 'Nilla wafers and he's done. My kids demanded to bring lunch this year because the school's drive to wipe out obesity meant they weren't getting enough food each day. Apparently--either to save money or save the world from fat children--protein basics like fish sticks were rationed. That meant for them that lunch consisted of 3 fish sticks and maybe some corn. They'd come home as grouchy as bears awakened too early from hibernation. I thought about talking to the nice man who runs the lunch program but I figured he was facing enough crap from the "Anti-Obesity" crowd. I couldn't muster the energy to start a counter "Save the Thin" movement. I suppose it might have become a trendy cause in this town. The only time I see obese kids in this town is at the ice cream shop and like any "townie" I figure they're from "outside".
The beginning of school always means "parent homework" too. This consists of a sheaf of forms which must be filled out and signed in blood. Actually, only some of the forms get signed in blood. One of these is the EXTREMELY IMPORTANT Code of Internet conduct. It basically says "I won't mess with anyone else's computer" which I think they've already learned at home. I've certainly delivered enough lectures about NOT giving out one's password to any site including Club Penguin and the Webkins site. The fact that all interesting sites--the ones that my kids hang out on regularly--like YouTube and One More Level.com are blocked doesn't seem to occur to the Powers That Be at the elementary school. Fortunately most of the teachers check their email regularly throughout the day which makes life much easier for arranging those last minute playdates or canceling same.
That email capability used to be a life line for me. My son used to be big on avoiding playdates or canceling them at the last minute after they'd been set. One year he was being pestered for a playdate by a kid he only liked within the boundaries of school. One day I told him I'd agreed to a playdate with Bratty Boy for the following Tuesday at his house. "Oh Mom, I'm not doing that. Tell him I'm going to have pink eye that day and that I can't come." Kid 1 and I laughed about that one for days. "Um, tell them I'm breaking my leg that day" "Oh, tell them I've got the flu next Wednesday". This is the same boy who turned down every birthday invite he received except for house parties, for years. He couldn't cope with the chaos and he particularly abhorred the ones that featured bowling or any earnest folk singer crooning silly songs about frogs or food. "That's for babies, Mom!", he told me when he was two. Just the other day he was complaining that his best friend gets invited to all sorts of birthday parties and he doesn't. I had to break it to him that when you turn everyone down for years and years, it doesn't put you at the top of the "Must Have" guest list. His reaction? "Oh".
I digress. The other staple of "Parent Homework" is the "Class Parent" form. This is the sheet I immediately toss in the trash. There's actually a lottery to be a class parent. This sternly worded, but hilariously deluded missive lets you know that should you aspire to be a class parent, you should not have had the privilege of same over the past two years. Hah, show me a woman (one I like, that is) who has "won" the class parent lottery for the past two years and I'll show you a mom who tipples in the afternoons. Even during the summer.
I was a class parent in second grade. The other mom and I were drafted--we did not "win" the honor. We both happened to be sitting in the audience at the first PTO meeting of the year when it was revealed to all that Miss Obtuse's second class had "No class parents". There was a collective gasp followed by hushed murmuring and then it happened. "Oh, Sal, isn't your daughter in Miss Obtuse's class?" "Um, yes, I guess so. Maybe" I replied. But it was too late. I was caught and so was another down to earth mom with no desire whatsoever to be a class mom. We actually had a pretty good time because we were so completely bad at it. We had no pretensions and we were lucky to have Mrs. Bond Bucks' kid in the same class. She took over every class event and we were thrilled. This mom is lovely and generous and really loves to do this stuff. We were very grateful. Puzzled but grateful.
On my planet, you do the class parent thing once--when they're in kindergarten and all of the kids seem cute. Especially the parents. It struck me the other day as we were setting off on our walk to school that new parents escorting their first child to kindergarten are just as shiny, hopeful and new as their kids. Plus, they're usually smiling. They have no idea of the forms that await them this year and every year after--forever. My homework's done. Is yours?
I am mostly happy so far. For two mornings now, I've gotten up at 0700, gotten myself clean and dressed and then chased the kids into their clothes. They leave at 8:15 for their 3 minute walk to school and I pull out of the driveway at 8:30. The system seems to work even with the additional task of putting together some semblance of lunch for both kids.
My daughter likes chocolate sandwiches. I'm waiting for some other mother or perhaps some diligent aid to notice that my daughter eats candy for lunch each day. All right, it's not chocolate exactly--it's Nutella, but despite the "cosmopolite" touch I still consider it candy. I first ate Nutella with fresh banana slices on hot -off -the- griddle crepes--in Paris. Now you can buy huge American-sized vats of Nutella at Costco. C'est la vie.
Kid 2 eats about 2 ounces of thinly sliced ham each day for lunch. He finishes off with 3 'Nilla wafers and he's done. My kids demanded to bring lunch this year because the school's drive to wipe out obesity meant they weren't getting enough food each day. Apparently--either to save money or save the world from fat children--protein basics like fish sticks were rationed. That meant for them that lunch consisted of 3 fish sticks and maybe some corn. They'd come home as grouchy as bears awakened too early from hibernation. I thought about talking to the nice man who runs the lunch program but I figured he was facing enough crap from the "Anti-Obesity" crowd. I couldn't muster the energy to start a counter "Save the Thin" movement. I suppose it might have become a trendy cause in this town. The only time I see obese kids in this town is at the ice cream shop and like any "townie" I figure they're from "outside".
The beginning of school always means "parent homework" too. This consists of a sheaf of forms which must be filled out and signed in blood. Actually, only some of the forms get signed in blood. One of these is the EXTREMELY IMPORTANT Code of Internet conduct. It basically says "I won't mess with anyone else's computer" which I think they've already learned at home. I've certainly delivered enough lectures about NOT giving out one's password to any site including Club Penguin and the Webkins site. The fact that all interesting sites--the ones that my kids hang out on regularly--like YouTube and One More Level.com are blocked doesn't seem to occur to the Powers That Be at the elementary school. Fortunately most of the teachers check their email regularly throughout the day which makes life much easier for arranging those last minute playdates or canceling same.
That email capability used to be a life line for me. My son used to be big on avoiding playdates or canceling them at the last minute after they'd been set. One year he was being pestered for a playdate by a kid he only liked within the boundaries of school. One day I told him I'd agreed to a playdate with Bratty Boy for the following Tuesday at his house. "Oh Mom, I'm not doing that. Tell him I'm going to have pink eye that day and that I can't come." Kid 1 and I laughed about that one for days. "Um, tell them I'm breaking my leg that day" "Oh, tell them I've got the flu next Wednesday". This is the same boy who turned down every birthday invite he received except for house parties, for years. He couldn't cope with the chaos and he particularly abhorred the ones that featured bowling or any earnest folk singer crooning silly songs about frogs or food. "That's for babies, Mom!", he told me when he was two. Just the other day he was complaining that his best friend gets invited to all sorts of birthday parties and he doesn't. I had to break it to him that when you turn everyone down for years and years, it doesn't put you at the top of the "Must Have" guest list. His reaction? "Oh".
I digress. The other staple of "Parent Homework" is the "Class Parent" form. This is the sheet I immediately toss in the trash. There's actually a lottery to be a class parent. This sternly worded, but hilariously deluded missive lets you know that should you aspire to be a class parent, you should not have had the privilege of same over the past two years. Hah, show me a woman (one I like, that is) who has "won" the class parent lottery for the past two years and I'll show you a mom who tipples in the afternoons. Even during the summer.
I was a class parent in second grade. The other mom and I were drafted--we did not "win" the honor. We both happened to be sitting in the audience at the first PTO meeting of the year when it was revealed to all that Miss Obtuse's second class had "No class parents". There was a collective gasp followed by hushed murmuring and then it happened. "Oh, Sal, isn't your daughter in Miss Obtuse's class?" "Um, yes, I guess so. Maybe" I replied. But it was too late. I was caught and so was another down to earth mom with no desire whatsoever to be a class mom. We actually had a pretty good time because we were so completely bad at it. We had no pretensions and we were lucky to have Mrs. Bond Bucks' kid in the same class. She took over every class event and we were thrilled. This mom is lovely and generous and really loves to do this stuff. We were very grateful. Puzzled but grateful.
On my planet, you do the class parent thing once--when they're in kindergarten and all of the kids seem cute. Especially the parents. It struck me the other day as we were setting off on our walk to school that new parents escorting their first child to kindergarten are just as shiny, hopeful and new as their kids. Plus, they're usually smiling. They have no idea of the forms that await them this year and every year after--forever. My homework's done. Is yours?
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