3 posts tagged “school”

If you have a kid in preschool or grade school, high school, scouts, sports, whatever, you probably, as we do, have to contend with a shitload of fundraising activities.  Sellathons, jogathons, walkathons, bookathons, spring carnival, cookie dough sales...(drum roll) the ubiquitous silent auction etc .  And there's no way around it, I know, you know, we all know.  So Jim and I got to talking about what hot item really might sell, create a stir, pull in some real cashola.  And we thought, well, what about a calendar, you know, "Moms of such-and-such School"?  Nothing X-rated or offensive, just, like, moms in bikinis doing...whatever.  We brought the idea to a couple working mom friends.  They laughed, then suggested a 'Dads of same-such-school' calendar.  Even better idea.  Which got us to thinking about, you know, layout...format.  January: Jet Propulsion Lab dad (our kids go to school in Pasadena) in boxers with a bunsen burner, February:  Straight-laced-suit lawyer dad in a Speedo and suspenders in a courtroom diorama, March:  Real Estate dad meeting clients at a house...waving, naked-but-tastefully-hidden-from-the-hips-down behind his Toyota Prius--and as long as we're talking tasteful--photographer dad with his Sony cam hanging at exactly groin length (and nothin' else), writer dad sitting at a desk or in a coffee shop wearing only his laptop.  Come on, go with it.  Try just planning it with a friend at your kid's school next time the annoying and mundane starts dragging you down, making you cranky.  You'll come up with images for days that will, at least, make you laugh aloud on the way to yet another fundraising extravaganza. 

Yesterday I had a whole different idea of what I was going to write about at today's end.  Because today is my son's tenth birthday and instead of waking up in the delirious excitement that he went to sleep in, he woke in the early morning hours puking.  It's evening and he's finally stopped puking and is finally asleep.  But I was reminded in such a more visceral way than I'd expected to be of that day ten years ago.  Because when you're sick, you're a baby.  And today for his birthday he was sick and I remembered his red scrunched, screaming face then and the magic of 'then there was one more' in an instant, and suddenly everything else came rushing on in like intraveneous tubes letting loose in my elbows. 

This morning when it was apparent that D wasn't going to school, his sister got an immediate sympathetic stomach ache.  I mean, the minute she found out he was sick, she went limp and started complaining of a stomach ache.   It was as if she didn't quite have the words or ability to comfort him so the least she could do was join his plight.  I humored her for about an hour, then told her she had to go to school.  Jim told me that her stomache ache miraculously disappeared in the car. 

Today when D got bored of me, he only wanted to know when his sister would be home.  When?  And when she got home and he was asleep, she only wanted to know when he would be awake so that she could hug him.  It took longer than usual for the two of them to abruptly decide that each was mistaken/crazy/a baby/stupid and even when it happened, it was much more subdued than usual.  It was like we were all out on this little dingy together and everyone was trying real hard not to tip it over.  And the night felt strange because of it.  And still does.  Happy birthday.  --K

Today at Busters coffee shop with my laptop I shoulda been working, but I couldn't because I had nothing to say and there were two women at the table next to me with the most extraordinary heads of hair...thick, unkempt rasta ringlets in 100 perfect gradations of blonde.  I kept wondering who I would be if I had hair like theirs.  There was also a man eating ice cream, circulating among the tables yelling, "Hello!"  then "What do you do?"  Something about his delivery and his insistence made him sound like a German tourist, yelling from a German-English book.  "Hello! What do you do?"  Everyone he asked answered him. 

     "I'm a student."

     "I make sandwiches."

     "I'm a teacher."

     To which he replied, "Where do you teach?"

     "Franklin High."

     "Is it a big school?"

     "Yes, one of the bigggest in Los Angeles."

     "How many floors?"

     "Uh, five."

     "How do you travel between floors?"

     "Stairs."

     "What about the handicapped students?"

     "Oh.  They have an elevator."

     "Is there a window in the elevator?"

     "Um, I think so."

     "Haven't you used the elevator?"

     "No.  You need a key to use it and I don't have the key."

     "Who gets keys?"

     "I guess people who need the elevator.  Um, people with bad knees, or doctors' notes or handicapped people."

     "Handicapped people have keys."

     The teacher gathered his things and headed out.  "You take care."

Tomorrow I'll try to finish my work at home.  K