Back to school is always a tumultuous time. It’s filled with ups and downs, pros and cons, and a lot more nights of, “I meant to make dinner but it turns out I can’t bend space and time, so here’s some leftover spaghetti and eat a pickle because it’s a vegetable,” than I prefer.
As much as I enjoy my children and love having them home for the summer, especially since they’re old enough to do laundry and dishes, there is something satisfying about the routine of a school day. The most satisfying part is how my house stays clean all damn day long. But it’s also nice to have a pattern that we can trust, a schedule to which we can adhere.
Except for September.
Because September is not organized. September is, instead, a lesson in chaos, a time to figure out where you can purchase a portable three-hole punch at 5:27 a.m. (and also, a bottle of Jack Daniels) and a time to look for your inner peace (and find it beating the shite out of your inner zen.)
I have to admit, I’m a nerd. I love a fresh notebook. I get giddy over new backpacks. I long for the days of textbooks and chalkboards and I totally miss being the teacher’s pet.
So it goes without saying that I’m a huge fan of back-to-school night. Amidst all the insanity of that first harrowing month, it’s my solace. It’s the night where all the parents have to return to school and everyone’s former High School Self emerges.
The geeks are examining schedules and planning which teacher to pull aside to ask about extra credit assignments for their unsuspecting kids. The less studious in the group are dreading each 13-minute block and hoping they get a call from a vomiting child so they can escape. And then there are the social ones that show up and never actually make it inside a classroom. They can be found hanging out in the cafeteria with their friends.
I was so disappointed that I wasn’t going to be able to make it this year. I was also disappointed that I didn’t know about it until a friend posted it on Facebook. Another friend commented that she missed it on the school calendar. I was glad that I had friends that were so together because I not only found out about back to school night, but I also found out I had a school calendar.
Anyway, it was scheduled for a night that both of my children needed to be somewhere else and I was counting on my husband to take thorough notes so I didn’t miss anything important (yes, I’m kidding.) It didn’t matter, though, because, as it turns out, he already had a full schedule and would not be able to attend in my stead.
Since there was no way I would allow our entire family to miss such a momentous occasion, I planned to make it work. I mean, my kids are pretty big now. I could certainly drop them off at their extra-curricular activities. If I was running a few minutes late in picking them up, they could surely wait it out. How long could back-to-school night possibly last, anyway?
Two hours. That’s the answer to how long back-to-school night lasts.
It started poorly for me. Not only was I very ill prepared for the time commitment, I was just generally ill prepared. Being ill-prepared is like kryptonite to a nerd. I was weak and ineffective. I barely made it out alive.
It seems that in my district, one needs a schedule to navigate back-to-school night. You get the schedule, you follow the schedule. For some reason, I have no recollection of doing this last year. Maybe it’s old age. Maybe it’s wine. Either way, I walked into that school with nothing but a dream and my mom-purse.
Before I even made it to the door, I noticed lots of people with slips of paper. I started to feel uneasy. Something was clicking inside my overcrowded brain as I stared down at my empty hands. It was not better inside. Everyone was looking at their papers, asking well-dressed and well-behaved ROTC children to guide them towards particular room numbers.
I began furiously texting my child.
“I’m supposed to have your schedule. I don’t have your schedule. Text me your schedule.”
“Oh.”
“Hurry up. I’m going to be late to first period.”
“Room 158.”
“Thanks. Text the rest, too. I’m completely unprepared.”
I scurried to 158. After running up and down the stairs because I thought I remembered it was upstairs, I arrived late and shamefully took my seat by the door. I was able to redeem myself though as I dutifully followed the rules and wrote both my name and my child’s name on the provided index card. The teacher came by and looked over my shoulder, so I sat a little straighter and made sure to use my best handwriting.
“Who is your child?”
I gave his name and she stared at me blankly.
“Do you have a schedule?”
The shame crashed down on me like the Hindenburg and I threw my kid right under the bus.
“He didn’t give me one.”
So his class was not in room 158. I was so very late to class that I snuck into the back. The teacher didn’t even pause her presentation as she strode back and provided me with the proper course description and another freaking index card. This one was to write a note to our kids that she would hand to them before the test the next day. Test? I was told he had no homework.
To further my humiliation, I was still without a schedule and now in a cellphone dead area in the school. In less than four minutes, I had to be in second period and I had no idea where that was.
“Make sure you double-check the room numbers. You’re not in 158.”
“I’m definitely in 158. I go there every day.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“I have no time to argue with you. Where do I go next???”
I was texting in class. Like some kind of hoodlum, I was hiding my phone under the desk, not completely paying attention to this poor woman’s very thorough and clearly defined presentation, so I could argue with my child.
I was failing back-to-school night.
It started to get a little better from there. I made it to the next class on time and even learned some stuff about the course. I skipped lunch and instead used the time to get to my next class early, where I chatted with the teacher and asked about extra credit assignments for my kid.
I had finally gotten into the groove when I realized that there was a problem with my timing. Having planned for a one-hour educational extravaganza, it seemed I was going to be leaving my children a little more than a few extra minutes. More like an extra hour. I was left with no alternative. I was going to have to cut last period.
First, I had no schedule. Then, I was texting under my desk like a common criminal. Now, I was going to cut class. If I kept going like this, I’d be smoking in the bathroom in no time.
I guiltily planned my getaway. Just one more class then I’d sneak out the back door before anyone saw. Except I found my friend in that one class. And we spoke in hushed tones about the parents who don’t come to back-to-school night. We laughed and laughed. Then, we came to the conclusion that our kids were in the next class together, too. The one I planned to cut.
Jesus, Mary and Joesph, I couldn’t leave. I couldn’t be that mom. I started texting again (because apparently, I’m totally ok with being that mom).
To the child: “This is running way later than I thought. I’m not going to make it for at least another half-hour. Let me see if Dad will be home earlier.”
To the husband: “When do you think you’ll be home? The kids are waiting and I’m still at back-to-school.”
“I’m home.”
“You’re home? For how long?”
“About half hour or so.”
“Umm. Do you think you can get the kids?”
“When?”
“A HALF-HOUR AGO.”
“Gotcha.”
I don’t think I endeared myself to one single teacher that night. There were no gold stars, no 100s, and no extra credit. I was just a sad, schedule-less woman who had fed her kids spaghetti and pickles and left them stranded, all the while, texting in class. I’m pretty sure I’m going to hell.
I’m not going to recommend spaghetti and pickles, but I would suggest you try an easy slow cooker bolognese sauce that you can set up in the morning and come home to after humiliating yourself in front of several teachers who weren’t yet born when you were starting high school.
I like this one from My Fitness Pal, but it needs garlic. Add about 4 cloves in with the beef when you brown it:
Crockpot Bolognese
Ingredients
4 ounces pancetta, chopped (or center cut bacon)
1 tablespoon butter (or olive oil)
1 large white onion, minced
2 celery stalks (about 3/4 cup), minced
2 medium carrots (about 3/4 cup), minced
2 pounds 95% lean ground bee
1/4 cup white wine
2 (28 ounce) cans crushed tomatoes
3 bay leaves
Salt and fresh pepper
1/4 cup chopped fresh parsley
1/2 cup half & half cream
Directions
In a large deep saute pan, saute pancetta on low heat until the fat melts, about 4-5 minutes. Add butter, onions, celery and carrots and cook on medium-low heat until soft, about 5 minutes. Increase flame to medium-high; add meat, season with salt and pepper and saute until browned. Drain the fat then add wine; cook until it reduces down, about 3-4 minutes. Add to crock pot. Add tomatoes, bay leaves, salt and pepper; cover and set slow cooker to LOW 6 hours. After the 6 hours, adjust salt and pepper to taste, add half & half and parsley; stir and serve over your favorite pasta or spaghetti squash.
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Laurie Nigro, is the mother of two biological children and one husband. She also takes care of a menagerie of animals that leaves throw-up around for her to step in in the middle of the night. Laurie’s passionate about frugal, natural living, which is a nice way of saying she’s a kombucha-brewing, incense-burning, foodie freak who tries really hard not to spend money on crap made by child laborers. You can hear her rant about her muse (aka husband) and other things that have no bearing on your life, in this space each Sunday.
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