Wednesday, August 23, 2006

An Open Letter To My Fellow Carpool Parents

You will be relieved to know that the little boy who ran in front of your cars this morning screaming "mommy, mommy, mommmmmmmy" at the top of his lungs is back home and resting comfortably. Thank you for putting your cell phone and starbucks down and looking up just in time to hit your brakes.

He's generally a happy, well adjusted kid. He just doesn't like his teacher. Or homework, Or school. Please know that I had done my due diligence prior to our arrival. He's been coached, encouraged, warned, and threatened. He understands that if he refuses to exit the vehicle with the other three passengers and walk into school there will be consequences. Big ones.

He doesn't care.

I do apologize for holding up traffic. I wasn't trying to create a scene. I will be sure to wear the proper undergarments from now on. I usually don't have to exit my vehicle. You may have noticed me (the one with the wild, frizzy hair, sweat pants, t-shirt and no bra) attempting to discreetly pull my child out of the car and walk him to the door. You all were so patient while I tried to physically remove him from my car. Note to self - take car keys with me when exiting vehicle so that said child can't lock you out. Having pried every one of his fingers off the door handle and whispering in my sweetest, assuring voice that he was fine, I would see him this afternoon, I'm going to get back in the car, etc. I thought I was home free.

That's when you might have heard him screaming at me as I walked away. I heard him. Really, I did. I could see that he was running after me. Thank you green Suburban for not running over him and black Toyota for not rear-ending green Suburban when it stopped abruptly.

And yes, that was my youngest son exiting my vehicle. He got nervous and decided to get out of his seat and come be by me. My deepest gratitude to the lady in the mini-van who got out and walked him over to me.

What's that saying, "it takes a village to drop your kids off at school?"

I'm not sure how helpful it was when the dad on car door duty suggested that I need to "get my kids under control." It's the unsolicited feedback that tends to put me off.

Thanks so much, I'm glad I could clear this up. Maybe you should arrive well before or after me in the morning. (I'm there consistently at 8:03) I'll be the one wearing a bra, with full make-up and hair done dragging my kid into school.

"The power of accurate observation is commonly called cynicism by those who have not got it." - George Bernard Shaw

Tuesday, August 22, 2006

The Woman Who Does Everything More Beautifully Than You


Monday, August 21, 2006

Sleeping With Bread - Mary's Meme



My friend Mary does a great spiritual exercise every Monday. (She even has a designer button!)

I'll start with what I'm most grateful for.

1. I'm really grateful that my whole family will be together at Thanksgiving. I'm really looking forward to that.
2. I'm grateful to our good friends who watched our kids all day Saturday.
3. I'm grateful for my kids' school situations.

I'm least grateful for:

1. My relentless insomnia. I'm trying to exercise each day to see if that helps.

I hope to hear from you. Join me (especially those KY people!)

Wednesday, August 16, 2006

The youngest woke me up this morning, he had dressed himself. He informed me that today we were going to Target to get a cookie and look at the toys HE wanted to see - all by ourselves. He suggested that I not mention our plan to the boys because they might get sad.

Tuesday, August 15, 2006

It's The Most Wonderful Time of the Year...

'Twas the night before school started,
When all through the town,
The parents were cheering...
It was a riotous sound.

By eight the kids were washed,
And tucked into bed,
When memories of homework,
Filled them with dread.

New pencils, new folders,
New notebooks, too,
New teachers, new friends-
Their anxiety grew.

The parents just giggled,
When they learned of this fright,
And shouted, "Upstairs!
GO TO BED! IT'S A SCHOOL NIGHT!"

_____________________________________________

Twas the Night Before School Starts
from Ron Yorgason

T'was the night before school starts
And all through the place,
Not a smile was seen
On any kid's face.
Our bags were all stuffed
With our notebooks brand new,
And rulers and pencils
With erasers to chew.

Mournfully we
All crawled into bed,
Knowing too well
That the 'good life' was dead.

Then mom came in whistling
And kissed us goodnight,
With a bright cheery voice
That didn't seem right.

The night dragged on slowly
I just couldn't sleep,
For fear that my math teacher
Would be a real creep.

Or maybe a bully
Would give me a shove,
Or even more evil things
Than I could think of.

When from in the next room
There arose such a clummer,
My mom yelled, "I'm FREE!"
"I'm free 'till next summer!"

This must be a plot
By conspiring moms,
Who just want a break
To experience 'calm.'

Oh, must I go through it?!
How can I go on?
I want to escape
Run off to Saigon!

Nine months is too long
To suffer through school
The classes so rough
And teachers who're cruel.

"Come Donald! Come Conner!
Come Henry VanStation!
Come up to the board,
Do your multiplication!"

"And Julie, stop talking!
And Jimmy, wake up!
And Mary, right now,
Don't do your makeup!"

Teachers ever are hounding
They just never quit.
You do something wrong,
They go into a fit.

And so every year
About this same time,
I lie in bed sleepless
And just moan and whine.

Until morning comes,
And I hear my mom say,
"Good luck with your school!
And have a nice day!"

Tuesday, August 08, 2006

Sleeping With Bread - Mary's Meme

Consolation - Mary spent all kinds of time on my behalf helping to make my blog look great. It means alot to me and I love what she did.

Desolation - I feel like no matter what activity or event I plan for my children, they fail to be appreciative. If I had a rocket parked out front ready to shuttle them to the moon, they'd be so indifferent I'd want to leave them there. I think (actually know) that school will recalibrate them and I personally can't wait. I know "this is a beautiful time," I'll never have them at this age again, blah blah blah. Quite frankly, August 16 can't come soon enough.

Garrison Keillor: ...and brought to you by Xanax Salad Sprinkles. Anti-anxiety medication in condiment form. Got a tough lunch meeting coming up? Take Xanax Salad Sprinkles to give you that air of supreme indifference that says "winner". And they're low calorie. Available in your grocer's pharmacy section.

Thank you Mary and Fringelements for my new look! John and Kristen designed the banner and Mary spent a considerable amount of time on my behalf uploading and bringing it all together. I can't stop checking myself out!

Someday, I will actually learn how to do a link, until then:

www.homeonthefringe.com/fringelements

Friday, August 04, 2006

The Flags of Our Sons

By BILLY SHORE
Published: August 4, 2006
Washington

WHEN you fly as often as I do you learn to mind your own business as soon as you take your seat. But that wasn’t possible once I saw the military honor guard boarding US Airways’ 1:45 p.m. flight from Boston to Washington earlier this week.

I was heading through the gate when I first noticed Senator Ted Kennedy, walking down the concourse and arriving fashionably late, not an uncommon sight on this route. I stepped aside and followed him down the ramp.

As we got to the arched entrance of the plane, the members of a Marine honor guard in their dress blues were coming up that outside staircase usually used for stowing strollers and allowing mechanics on board. The marine in charge held in both hands a flag that had been folded into a triangle as if it had been previously draping a coffin, which it had.

Senator Kennedy extended his hand to the marine and said, “Thank you for your service.”

“Thank you, sir,” replied the marine.

“Are you escorting remains?” asked Senator Kennedy.

“Yes, sir, a marine.”

“And the funeral is at Arlington Cemetery?”

“Yes, sir, on Wednesday.”

“Thank you, I’ll try to get out there.”

The marine went back to sit in coach, but a man in the last row of the first-class cabin went over to him, shook hands and offered his seat. The marine reluctantly accepted. Half the passengers broke into applause.

The rest of the flight was uneventful, though quieter than usual. When we landed, the marine took his white gloves from where he’d stowed them inside his hat, put them on, and again gripped with both hands the precious cargo of the folded flag.

Then he went over to two people quietly sitting in first class — the parents of the fallen marine. None of us had known they were there.

He escorted them off the plane and into the terminal. Because of the afternoon’s oppressive heat and humidity, he had persuaded them to wait inside instead of on the tarmac.

The father looked as if he might have once been a marine himself, a handsome man of perfect posture, with bristly silver hair, dressed smartly in a blue blazer and gray slacks. The mother, blond, wore light-colored pants and an orange jacket. Her glasses made her eyes seem bigger than they were. They both looked calm, if a little lost, and gave off an aura of deep quiet. As she walked by me she noticed that a tie had fallen as I was removing something from my carry-on bag and she stopped and pointed. “I think you dropped something,” she said softly.

They stood at the window between Gates 43 and 45 and watched as a full Marine honor guard marched up the tarmac, coming to attention between the plane and a silver military hearse. The unloading of their son’s coffin from the cargo hold was very slow, and every time someone inside the terminal noticed and stopped to stare, someone else noticed and did the same, and this kept happening until about 20 people stood in silence watching out the window.

The mom leaned her elbows on the window ledge, supporting her chin and cheeks with both hands. She remained perfectly still. She stared for 10 or 15 long minutes and never moved. The father stood nearby, rocking from foot to foot and pacing a bit. They did not touch; they did not say a word to each other. Neither wore a wedding band. Perhaps they were divorced, or simply isolated in their pain.

Standing nearby was a man wearing the T-shirt of a suburban fire and rescue department that he may have earned 20 years and 35 pounds ago. He went over to the parents to chat, not knowing who they were, just one curious spectator to another.

But whatever he said to the mother caused her to turn and look at him in disbelief. Her lips didn’t move, which only encouraged him to repeat it. Her eyes widened and her chin tilted upward like a boxer who had taken a blow. She stared at him and then looked back outside toward her son. Down on the tarmac the white gloves of eight marines snapped their final salute as the doors of the hearse closed.

The P.A. system announced flights for Atlanta and Chicago. Travelers rushed to business meetings or summer vacations. The line for Auntie Anne’s pretzels was as long as ever.

Except for a handful of us standing frozen at a respectful distance from the window, the war and its carnage might as well have been on another planet. The disconnect between those who serve and those of us who are beneficiaries of their service has always felt great to me, but never greater than at that moment.

The mom and dad stepped away from the man in the T-shirt and to another window, still not touching, their movement synchronized by grief. They waited until the marine in charge came back up from the runway to escort them to a government vehicle. I went to my car and drove to work with no ambition for the day other than to be worthy.