Fall rituals

A sign of the times…
Fall Fall Fall- such a busy season in the family. Children are adjusting to the back to school schedules. Even though various reliable sources tell us Fall will occur in September this year at a specific time and on a specific day, I am here to tell you that Fall sweeps in on the tail of a flyer from school titled, “Open House”. Open house is an exciting event, full of opportunities to meet teachers, and to learn all about the what your child faces in the coming months, what they will learn, need, be expected to do. This critical information is relayed to parents in a five minute span, scattered throughout the evening as you traipse through your child’s schedule.
This year we only have 2 “real” schools to deal with, College being the 3rd- and it doesn’t count, because my child is developing her independence through her experiences there, and basically parents are not invited. Until tuition is due. Or books are needed.

When Middle school open house appeared on our refrigerator schedule, I was beside myself with excitement. How thrilling! What an opportunity!! If only. We have been so lucky over the years to have been offered this opportunity 56 times. As number 57 approached, I cornered my husband and said, “Hey honey, guess what is just too good to believe? We’ve got open house this week!” No reply. None……and I realized that I would be the only parent in the house available to attend. The challenge I faced was one of numbers. Two of our 4 children attend the same school. Now you may say, “Well, how, just how in the world can one parent play the part of two at Open House?” So, listen up, ‘cause here’s how it worked.

I sat in the pre-open house PTA meeting for just long enough for the lights to go out. Then I found Child A’s homeroom teacher, outside of her classroom, socializing with her peers as she awaited the onslaught of curious parents. I introduced myself, asked her how she liked working with the other core teachers, because I have heard so many wonderful things about them from my precious daughter. I then excused myself, and went to Child B’s homeroom teacher.

The point here is that my child’s homeroom teacher will mention to the other core teachers that I had some pleasant comments to say about them. This in itself is very valuable, because before the night is over, they will be riddled with comments and criticisms, and they will more likely recall the pleasant ones, especially the first one of the evening. This also produces a witness . The children are often given extra credit if parents attend. So, by interacting with one of the team, the others know I was there. Same deal with Child B’s homeroom. This leaves us only elective teachers to try to spot. I went straight to Band, the common thread among the two siblings, and in one fell, “So nice to meet you”, knocked our visiting targets down by 2. For the rest of the night, I skipped from one to the other. In the end I spent quality time with about 25 percent of the teachers I should have, but I actually touched base with all of them. I was able to leave 30 minutes early, beat the exit traffic and, still had time to swing by the grocery before coming home in time to put the kids to bed.

As soon as I opened the back door , both darlings came running with a pop quiz . “Did you see my teachers?” I answered honestly, “Yes, I sure did.” “Who did you see?” I scratched my chin, glanced up at the cobwebs in the corner of the room and said, “Let me see, there were so many I’m not sure I can remember them all. I spoke with Ms. Kinney, (homeroom) ,and Mr. Zany (homeroom ). Now, didn’t you think the music Mr. Jones picked out for the band is interesting?” Followed by,
“Sweet? Was it Social Studies or Math that you got that B on?”

This comment indicated, through assumption, that I had in fact seen both Math and Social Studies teachers. The other child asked the hardest question. “ Did you see ALL my teachers?” I smiled and hugged her and said, “ There sure is a school full of them, isn’t there?” Deception is not an active part of my parenting job, but there are times, where desperate times call for desperate measures.

After time and an increase of children in the household had set in, the oldest moved into High School, and came home with the Open House announcement, I was relieved to only have to play the part of one parent for one child. I will say, though, that the experience brought me to realize how times are changing in today’s world. I got ready to go, and my child hugged ME, told me to have a good time, explained where to go, and when to be there. Then she gave me HER cell phone and told me to call her when I needed her (the child) to come pick me up(the parent)after school. I walked to her school, thinking….Something is not quite right here. I’m the parent, walking to school, with my child’s cell phone. Now there’s a sign of the times for you.

Be careful what you ask...

Be careful what you ask, because you may get an unexpected answer.
Picking up the girls at Elementary school one day, in the car, “So How was your day? Anything special happen?” Rachel answered, “Well, I had to walk 5 laps on the playground today. I wasn’t thinking when I popped my lunch bag in the cafeteria today.” “Well, Rachel, what happened when you did that? Did anybody scream or cry?” “No, it just got real quiet, then my teacher looked at me and said 5 laps.” I helped her clean up her spilled lunch, tho’.”

Putting the foursome to bed one night, one of the girls asked, “ Mommy, who’s your favorite?” “Well, who do you think my favorite is?” They all answered, “me”. Once I caught my breath, I responded with,” You’re my favorite story teller, you’re my favorite cuddle bug, you’re my favorite fairness person, and you’re my favorite figure -outer.”

We were in the car one day and Mary said “You’re a good mom.” Rachel said, "You must be raising us right because we get along almost all of the time.”

Bonds with Service workers

Our neighborhood underwent a major gas line replacement last year. Every yard was dug up, and when the work was finished, a few plops of sod were slapped down with a trail of straw scattered about. Our turn rolled around right smack in the hottest part of summer. I really felt for those hard working construction guys, digging and moving dirt, burying the pipes, etc.. When they were done, I asked if they would like something to drink- One husky guy said, " We'll take a beer if you've got one." I said, "Well, I've got water today, sorry." He replied, "Water will be just fine, Ma'am." So decided to give them a real treat, and I poured them each a tall glass of my favorite fizzy water' Quibell. They accepted the drinks and were very gracious. Here were 5 burly workers, some no doubt had been former world class weight lifters, now wearing reflective vests and orange hard hats. They looked like a pack of big teddy bears sitting on my front yard. As I approached the house, one of them stopped and said, "Excuse me, Ma'am, Is this Quibell? " It was like stepping into the grey poupon commercials. This led to discussions of fizzy water- To hear these huskies discussing something as tame as carbonated water just makes me chuckle. It created a bond, and before they left, they rang the doorbell and gave me specific instructions of how to get my gas turned back on the quickest. They told me who to call and what, exactly what to say. Looking out for me, those big hearts. Thanks Quibel

I must have something going with the gas company, because on another occasion, the gas man came by to turn on one of the upstairs apartment's gas. I chatted with him, we talked sports, kids, girls, we clicked just like the electronic ignition on the gas stove. I brought him some lettuce from the garden, and he said, "You're not serious? From your own garden? In the city? " He asked to have a tour. Then he proceeded to tell me how much he missed New York and the apple trees there. I ended up sending him home with fresh butter crunch and romaine knowing he had connected more than the gas that day. The jogging of his fond memories turned his serious nature slightly pleasant.

Then ther's Sears and Bruce. He came to repair my 10 year old dryer. He completely dismantled the thing, Found the part he thought was broken, and replaced it. The dryer still didn't work. During the afternoon that it took to do all that taking apart and putting together, we talked about gardens, kids, and hurricanes. He seemed to relax as he worked, Finally, he said, okay, here it is. I've put $250 dollars into this dryer and it's still not working. I can get the only other part lef t, but then you're looking at another $25 plus another trip out. What do you want to do? Isaid, and quite frankly, too. Bruce, Why would I want to spend $300 on a 10 year old dryer, when a new one is about that price? He just shook his head, " I know what you mean, but I really don't want to have to take that whole dryer apart just to get off the new part I put on that doesn't fix it anyway, so I'll just leave it and I'll give you a coupon for $25 off a new dryer. " Iwalked him out to the car, ran out to the garden and plucked him two fresh tomatoes for luck, and sent him home. It was a pleasant afternoon in the long run. It restored my faith in the "Murky" repair man syndrome. We treated each other fairly and met a new person in the end.