Gawd, parenting is fun sometimes.

My son tells me he does not like school. Since for ninety-five percent of children under the age of twelve, recess is the only good thing about education, I urge him to consider the merits of the playground at school.

“Is there a slide outside at your school?”

“Yes.”

“Is there a sandbox?”

“Yes.”

“A tricycle?”

“Yes.”

“Elephants?”

“Yes.”

Then a typical conversation between my ten-year old daughter and me:

“I have a bodyguard at school.”

“Really?”

“Yep.”

I snicker, imagining the negotiation on the schoolyard. I ask, “What makes you need a bodyguard? What sort of important person are you?”

“Uh, I am special.”

“Unspecified special?”

“Yep, unspecified special.”

And:

The little one is cranky. He does not want to walk through the grass to the car. He does not want a snack. He only wants to be held. My lower back has become sore by holding this thirty-five pound lamb chop, so I am not willing to carry him the distance to the car.

I pretend I have received a call on the cell phone. “Luis,” I say, “it’s the elephant on the playground. She wants to talk to you.”

He reaches for the phone. Just as I begin to worry that he will quickly bore of listening to a silent cell phone, my daughter offers to call him and pretend she’s the elephant.

Ten minutes later, he’s lifting his leg into the car, while carrying on an intense conversation with Miss Elephant.

By Vicki Inglis

Labels: school, silly, Vicki Inglis

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“I don’t want to go to school!” Eric wailed this morning.

Already?  On the second day? Last year this chant was too familiar -- but this is a new year. 

It is supposed to be a new beginning. 

“What would make you want to go to school?”

“I want to go to Lego school!”

Of course!  Why didn’t I think of that? This is our second try at kindergarten after an expensive detour including an extra year at preschool. Of all the things I considered -- from home schooling to boot camp at a military academy, Lego school had not crossed my mind as an alternative for kindergarten.

He has done Lego camps, Lego drop in and basically plays with them every day.  I wish he could go to a school and do Legos all day. 

I wish I could go!

So we agreed that FIRST he has to go to kindergarten.

THEN he was going to speech therapy.

FINALLY, we will go to Lego class. 

“And you're going because of what kind of behavior?”

“Good behavior!”  He sings.

Yay!!! This school thing might work after all.

By Cathy Burke

Labels: Cathy Burke, Legos, school

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I’m lounging in my pajamas again, on a school morning at that. Why not? There’s no need to race from the shower in order to beat the family morning rush with wet hair. Instead I’ve gotten used to actually reading the newspaper cover-to-cover before the kids stampede down the stairs. My day is beginning with a quiet, peaceful morning graced with a strong, aromatic cup of coffee.

It’s just too good to last.

Summer is finally hitting a nice groove in our home. After weeks of camps and various other activities, we are all enjoying unstructured days spent outdoors, often returning home from the park near eight p.m. under a sunny August sky. The kids are relaxed, content to lollygag about, playing with friends, climbing trees or retreating to enjoy a favorite book.

Last night they got an even later bedtime and so I’m pleased and surprised to find it’s almost eight a.m. again without the interruption of feet stomping down the stairs.

Ah, summer.

I take in the view of the hills outside the glass doors and relax in the quiet of my day before doing a mental check of any agenda. Let’s see, it’s Thursday which means a trip to the pediatrician’s office for a yearly checkup and oh, a stop at Staples to buy school supplies. And have the lunchboxes we ordered arrived? Did Lauren want to keep those jeans or return them for others? Does William have enough socks, any socks? I better look through those shirts, too. Grace needs to start wearing those shoes again since Crocs aren’t allowed at preschool.

I feel a familiar rush of adrenaline surges through me then my eye intuitively darts to the oven clock. Oh shit, it’s eight-thirty a.m. already. On Monday the kids will be expected to be attentive in class at this time rather than slumbering against soft pillows.

I have exactly four remaining nights to readjust my kids from roughly sixty-eight nights of different sleeping schedules.

But it’s the Olympic season so anything’s possible, right? I wonder if Michael Phelps’ Mom let him sleep in during the summer. No, I bet even in preschool he was completing his warm-ups by now and probably made his bed before he left the house.

I consider my kids’ academics for the first time all summer. Does Lauren remember any regrouping for division? Can William write anything besides his name? I better make sure that ‘a’ is kept lower-case. OK, four days to go. Can I cram a recap of the previous year’s curriculum between now and Monday?

Should I?

Oh hell, the kids will probably be sleepwalking those first weeks anyway since I, their Mother, didn’t keep our schedules on track. Dark eyes, sullen looks, snapping mouths – wish it were true that I was describing characters from Maurice Sendak and not my own offspring.

I had also hoped to take on one home project given the freedom and flexibility summer allows … what was it going to be again?

The dog barks, interrupting the downward spiral of thought. A crisp, autumnal morning chill greets me as I open the door. The season will be changing soon. Gone will be the daylight-basked evenings and warm air wafting pleasantly through the window screens.

I imagine the dark winter mornings with my setting out breakfast and packing lunch boxes while weary little forms trod down the stairs with the greeting, “Do I have to go to school again today?” and their little sister chirping at the mere mention of the ‘s’ word, “I don’t go to my school. I miss my Mommy.”

Ah, fall. Summer was too good to last.

By Maija Threlkeld

Labels: endless summer, Maija Threlkeld, school

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