Yesterday was the first day of school and it was a complete non-event for me and mostly a ditto for the children:
1. Edward said he was exhilarated. I asked him to tell me more. He said, "How do you do more than exhilarated?"
2. Caroline told me about this and that and this and that that that and then said, "Oh! And then my friend E and I got locked out of the building and someone had to find us and let us back in again."
I had only been half listening to her but that got my attention. You got whatted out of the what?
"E had her shoe slip off and then it took her a while to get it back on again so I waited with her but by the time we got to the door it was locked and everyone was back inside."
I think it says a lot about my development as a neurotic parent that my instinct wasn't to clutch my pearls and contemplate the dangers that might beset two seven year old girls who are temporarily off the adult grid, but instead to imagine how their (brand new to the school) teacher must've felt when she realized she was down a couple of second graders and it was only the first freaking day. Like gakking. I expect she felt like gakking.
"Stay with your class, Caroline," I said.
"Oh sure!" she responded cheerfully. "Except when I can't. Like with E and her shoe."
3. Patrick went to lunch twice and missed a chunk of his art class but I don't think it was entirely his fault. Apparently the schedule is set up so that they go to half of their fourth period class, then go to lunch and then come back for the rest of fourth period. I swear Noelle explained this to me when she and her family came over on Sunday night and I had to have her repeat it three times and then have her confirm that what I thought she had said was true. But there it is. It sounded ridiculous(ly) (disruptive) to me but then I can only do one thing per day (watch football OR write something) and sometimes not even that so I'm not the best model for creative time management.
So Patrick's schedule listed first period, second period, third period, lunch, fourth period etc with notes about block days and A B or C lunches. It also listed times for all of these things but I guess that was a little too detailed for Patrick so he went to first period, then second period, then third period, then lunch (which he ate) and then fourth period only to discover that his class was about to break... for lunch. He went to the office for guidance and she helpfully drew one of those two-sided arrows between lunch and fourth period to remind him that his printed schedule wasn't entirely in chronological order.
I'm sure he'll figure it out.
4. Caroline and Edward's school decided to try and improve the admittedly dire parking lot situation by redirecting traffic. This is a very clever idea and I approve of it, but they weren't clear in explaining that the altered flow only applies to pickup and not drop off; so imagine, if you will, an opening scene in which dozens of cars are attempting to go clockwise while the rest are attempting to... not.
It reminded me of the Stephen Leacock quote, "Lord Ronald said nothing; he flung himself from the room, flung himself upon his horse and rode madly off in all directions."
PS I knew as soon as my streak was broken I would start using every excuse not to write, like this weekend when I became temporarily unhinged by watching eleventy billion Euro qualifiers. I think I watched more hours of soccer than actually exist, having entered some kind of footballicious fourth dimension.
Oh. Yeah. As long as we're on the subject I might as well acknowledge: Chelsea is having an appalling start; absolutely terrible; cannot score to save their collective lives; defense is shaky; and just when you think Mourinho could not get any ass-i-er a new week rolls around bing! he surpasses himself. I would not be surprised to learn that under his management Chelsea jerseys are being woven from the pelts of the Smurf - La La La La LA LAAAAAAAaaaaaaiiiiie!
And in October Scotland has to beat Gibraltar (no problem. I could beat Gibraltar) but they also need to defeat Poland, which... hmmm. I mean, maybe! Is there a Scots word that means one is resigned to inevitable defeat while still retaining some painful vestiges of optimism? I'm sure there's one in German... not that they'd ever need to use it.