TheMommyBlog

Thursday, September 04, 2008 Bad Mood Dude, Family

I’ve never had one of those naked-in-front-of-an-audience dreams, but I do have some of the other standards such as forgetting where class is, missing tests, and getting lost in hotels, malls, and campuses. There’s also a plethora of dreams in which I must pack a vast amount of family clothing into hopelessly inadequate luggage, knowing full well that I will never make the flight on time—AGAIN—and that I will end up wheeling everything (sleeves and pant legs hanging out every zipper) to the curb to get a taxi home. Trouble is, I either don’t know the way, have no money, or get caught up in some underworld espionage drama where I am forced to ditch the luggage and run for my life.

I’ll let you insert your own all-too-obvious analysis here.

Last night was back-to-school night for all three my my kids, in first, third, and fifth grade. They split up the times so that grades K-3 were the first hour and 4-5 were the second hour. Only I thought it was K-2 and 3-5. You know, three and three, all logical and whatnot. What do I know? I’m not even employed.

So, of course, I went to the first grade class, knowing that it was important to get to know the teacher that would be grading my child FOR REAL, and not at all with the latitude given in Preschool and Kindergarten.

After than, I prepared to split my time between the boys’ classes, and was agonizing over which to hit first when I saw a friend outside the fifth grade classroom. “Boy, am I happy to see YOU here! Well, in general, but also because you can give me the scoop on this class while I go do third grade.” Score!

I ran over to the third grade room, which was…dark. And empty. Whafuaaa? Ohhh no. No no no no. I flagged down a teacher. “Is it at all possible that some classroom intros are not being held, say in the portables?”

“Which teacher? Oh! Well, third grade was in the first session. She’s gone home.”

Oh dear mother of God marinating in a sardine tin.

Dylan’s class was the one I didn’t want to miss. The one I need to be on top of. I will need to make a separate appointment to get the materials, warn the teacher about a few things, and ask her to feel free to vent anytime. Man, I hate the thought that Dylan is sitting at his desk, thinking that his parents were the only ones not to show. I did, but could only be in one place at a time. My poor little guy. Maybe I’ll go over at lunch time to give him a hug and tell him I’m sorry I missed meeting his teacher.

And then I’ll corner her, which I am sure is her favorite kind of lunchtime surprise.