It’s been how long since I’ve posted?
I can’t count how many times I saw Revenge of the Nerds as a kid. Now that I think about it, I really didn’t have any business watching that, but every now and then, my parents let something sneak through. The alcohol-induced antics of the Tri-Lambs and the Alpha Betas gave me a skewed sense of collegiate reality.
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I’ve known for weeks that school started today. GI Joe says that “knowing is half the battle,” but I’m not sure how much good it did me this time.
The school sent a newsletter that I scanned, then promptly lost. “Meet the Teacher” night, I noted, was at a time when I couldn’t attend. School supplies were the teacher’s responsibility. My job was to send $20 and a donation of tissue and disinfecting wipes. Thanks to my coupon clipping, I have a stockpile of household supplies, so this was no problem.
E spent Sunday afternoon arranging outfits; I stuffed wipes, tissue, cash into her book bag. We were ready, or so I thought.
“Mom,” my girl asked Tuesday night. “Who is my teacher?”
(Insert “Price Is Right” loser music here.)
I had no idea.
I spent all day Wednesday calling the school. No answer. I scanned the Web site for clues. Nothing.
I tried to make light of the situation. “It will be a surprise!” I declared. “You’ll find out when you get there.” My daughter was not convinced. While clearing out a stack of newspaper, I found the school newsletter.
“Class listings will be posted in the gym on Meet the Teacher Night.”
“Meet the Teacher Night” was that very day, from 4 – 6. I looked at the clock. It was 6:05.
(Re-insert “Price Is Right” loser music.)
I woke up this am at 5:45, determined to find the elusive name. I called the school every 15 minutes to no avail. I got my kid dressed, handed her a Pop-Tart, and said we’d go to school early to find the identity of her teacher. I’d then have to take her to daycare, because the school didn’t officially open for another hour.
We hurry to a the car, and I hit the garage door opener. No response. By the time Hubby got the door up, we had run out of time. I wouldn’t be able go take her to school, then to daycare, and make it to work on time.
(You know what to do.)
I dropped the kid off at daycare, drove to school, and ran into the gym to read the school listings. I called daycare and asked the director to tell my kid to go to Mr. K’s class.
I miraculously made it to work on time. And my kid had a great first day. What’s not so great is all this homework. Her workload has tripled since kindergarten. Last year, we had a worksheet or two. Now there’s reading, spelling, and math. Not to mention I had to fill out about 20 forms, all which seemed to ask for emergency contact information. Couldn’t they just copy the one form and circulate it?
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I’ve started doing yoga every morning before I get ready for work.
Forcing me to put my shoulders down has also encouraged me to deal with my stress, instead of letting it build. Sort of like my “Jesus, be a fence” mantra.
I made it back to yoga last week, ready to see how my poses improved with lowered shoulders. Our substitute yogi, Becky, mentioned she was a “hands-on” teacher. She corrected my leg positions, adjusted my back’s alignment, and encouraged me to stretch a little further while in cobbler’s pose. Not once, did she touch my shoulders.
I thought I was home free as our hour came to an end. I happily stretched onto my mat for corpse pose, a position where you lie flat on your back. Becky came by and made one last adjustment. She pressed my shoulders away from my ears. Damn.
I guess I’m a work in progress.