Wait - What's the Date that Pre-School Ends?
The pre-school (Holy Family) ends its year eight days before the public school. The result being that close to a hundred pre-schoolers are turned loose on their respective care-takers – mostly moms of course – but not an insignificant number of grandparents. Count me among the on-duty grandparents.
The pre-school (Holy Family) ends its year eight days before the public school. The result being that close to a hundred pre-schoolers are turned loose on their respective care-takers – mostly moms of course – but not an insignificant number of grandparents. Count me among the on-duty grandparents.
OK, So What are We Doing Next Week?
It was at the Holy Family after-school playground that I huddled with two moms (P and D, parents of Johnny’s closest friends) to consider our options. P suggested a trip to the zoo. I offered that “I’d rather stick needles in my eyes,” a Jack Nicholson line. No one laughed. Finally we settled on rotating responsibilities – each person takes one day with the three of them. I’d get Tuesday, P Wednesday and D Thursday. Monday and Friday we’d trust to the gods.
Who Is It?
It's Tuesday morning. Johnny is at my door at 8:30. I’ve told the moms I’d be at the town library at 9:30 and that they should show up there with their characters.
In the meantime, until 9:30, John is at my house and making short work of my “neatened” house. I had straightened things up last night in the event that Gina (early morning care person) came in when she delivered John.
String, Scissors and Duct Tape
I’m still getting my bearings as I settle into the couch with coffee and newspaper when John asks for marking pens. I fetch them. Back to the couch. Minutes later John, apparently diverted to a ball of string, approaches me dragging a large length of twine. The unraveling ball is visible in the distance on the far side of the room. “Have you got scissors?” he says.
I jump up. “Wait, wait, wait,” I say in rapid fire, taking hold of the string. “We’re not unraveling,” I emphasize attempting the kind-hearted-panic tone. I locate scissors (surprise); cut off a length of string.
I return to the newspaper. Next is a request for duct tape. I look up – try to think. You know how you can picture the duct tape – just recently having seen it – clear as day – somewhere – but where? I put down the newspaper and begin the search. The duct tape is not anywhere where it should be. The tool shelf – no. The kitchen counter, next to the microwave – no. The medicine closet – no. A bookcase shelf, top of the desk, front porch – no, no, no.
OK. So what time is it?
It’s 8:45
... more to come
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