Be True To Your School

And then the games actually begin.

The first day of school ushers out the last semblance of relaxation and we begin the months long tear through volumes of academic material, reams of worksheets, stacks of required reading material, a gross of No. 2 pencils, pounds of erasers, dozens of glue sticks, and countless notes and papers and reminders and permission slips.

I have received exactly three notes so far on Power School. Power School is a blessing and a curse. It is essentially spyware so you can secretly take a good long look at your kids’ grade book and attendance record from the comfort of your desk at work and never bother the teacher, who swears her door is always open. I liked it better when they just called you or wrote a note. Now I get to go looking for trouble. I got the original mailing about passwords and log-ons in early August. In late August I got a new one stating that the old one was incorrect and to disregard it in favor of the new one (for each kid). And just today, a third telling me there was yet another glitch, and an additional one will be sent and to disregard anything about Power School that has been sent except the one you get on pink paper. And all of this gets to be lovingly copied for my ex-husband so he can butt in as he sees fit.

So much for unobtrusive spying.

It’s the first day of school and no one wants to budge from bed. Even though we all swore on a stack of Bibles the night before that we’d not make the morning a tap dance through the bowels of Hell.

So in record time and several hairstyles for her, 3 different shorts/shirt combinations for him, a pair of burned bagels, the swapping of several items in the lunch bag for other items of equal or lesser nutritional value, a couple of rushed photographs where the children feign being happy to stand by each other’s sides, and one scalding cup of coffee later, they are out the door and into the car, and soon enough I am dropping them off at a nearby corner, far enough away from the gathering crowd of Middle Schoolers that no one will see their mother kiss them.

And I am sadder than you’d think to see them dash across the street to join their friends without so much as a look back.