Home Life Laurie Nigro Laurie Nigro: In June, there’s no rest for the weary

Laurie Nigro:
In June, there’s no rest for the weary

Stock photo: Fotolia

The end of spring is a magical time. The weather begins to improve exponentially and, for the school children, there is a flurry of celebration and excitement as the year comes to a triumphant end. This magical (and when I say magical I mean you have to be a magician to make all of this work) time includes picnics, graduations from every grade imaginable, dances, recitals, and a hellish mix of trying to find one more personal day so you don’t miss your little one dressed in an asparagus costume (that you had to make yourself because no one in their right mind sells asparagus costumes) and also pretending you’re excited to send your beloved child into the teeming pit of hormones, Axe body spray, and too-grown-up dresses that is also known as the school dance.

I’ve long since given up on any hope of quiet time in the month of June. I’ve also given up hope of knowing which day it is and also not needing to drink excessively. Siri is definitely sick of telling me what’s on my schedule for the day and I’m starting to sense a little judgy-ness in her tone, which is, frankly, uncalled for. I mean, she’s with me all day. She, above all, should understand. Oh, I’ve also started personifying computer generated, non-animate voices.

The year-end’s festivities began as innocently as they always do. And then the finals schedule was released, the dates for the recitals were announced, the summer program sign-ups were upon us, and field trips were scheduled. One such event was the end-of-school picnic, a day of joy and frivolity. Except for the part where no one was allowed to bring balls, bats, toys, or sports equipment of any kind. And the other part where I had to pack a lunch for my celiac-afflicted child, who is naturally excluded from meals such as these (to whom, to ease the suffering of being different, I always give a special treat). But when you remember about the special treat at 9:48 p.m. the night before the picnic, options are limited and you may find yourself buying stale macaroons at the gas station convenience store. And especially the part where the skies opened up and the heavens release the punishment of God upon 400 middle schoolers in the form of torrential rain. The texts started early.

Child: So I’m at the picnic it’s raining and I have no sweatshirt. What should I do?

Me: Get back in the bus? Hide under a table? Use your backpack as a hat?

Child: We can’t go into the buses.

Me: Are you soaked through yet?

Child: No but my backpack is.

Me: OK so I shouldn’t laugh but…

(Time passes.)

Child: (photo of makeshift shelter under a set of monkey bars, constructed with backpacks and towels) Protection.

Me: Brilliant!

Child: Other people are using blankets but I had to innovate.

Me: So it’s essentially a teepee camp???

Child: Yeah.

Me: I’m crying I’m laughing so hard.

(More time passes.)

Child: (triumphant photo from bus seat) We’re going back to the school. Joy!

Me: (smiley face emoji and “praise be” hands emoji)

(More time passes.)

Child: We didn’t go back. They sent us back out in the pouring rain.

Me: No!!! That’s insane! WTH is going on?

Child: I DO NOT KNOW IF I KNEW I WOULD MAKE IT STOP

Me: (actually laughing) It’s like a survival reality show.

At this point, my older child — who is done with school — can no longer ignore my hysterical laughter. Once filled in on the situation (and having viewed the multiple photos of cold, sad, wet, and bedraggled adolescents), he pulls out his best Australian accent and starts narrating the situation like it’s a nature documentary.

“Far removed from their natural habitat, the tribes are tense and uncomfortable. The relentless monsoons have made them fear for their survival. Tents and lean-tos are quickly constructed to protect them from the harsh elements. As the last vestiges of the sun fade away, they resort to body heat for warmth, fitting double, sometimes triple, the amount of bodies in each makeshift dwelling. Those with excessive Axe body spray are rejected and forced to find shelter in bushes and/or under trees. There are rumblings of revolt as the rival tribes examine their soggy hot dog buns and damp potato chips. These are trying times for the Park Tribes, and it seems that only the strongest can survive. Watch more on the History Channel, at 8:30/9:30 central.”

(Time passes again — we’re now at the five-hours-in-the-rain point.)

Child: So I just lived through Noah’s Ark. Without the ark. How’s your day been?

Me: You’re still there?

Child: On the bus. Not moving. The bus smells like Axe and the window in front of me is broken and won’t close so we’re getting rained on.

Me: This is great material.

By the time the fun and frivolity came to an end, my child and all of her belongings were soaked through and she was ravenous. Surprisingly, she was unimpressed by the stale macaroons and left them untouched. While discussing ways the day could have been better (aside from not having a picnic in the pouring rain), I examined the contents of her backpack. It contained writing utensils, books, and paper. Though I was impressed by her dedication to intellectual pursuits, I began to think the years of survival training were not very effective.

I’d like to say that this was the end of the torture that is the month of June, but this was before finals week, a couple of birthdays and anniversaries, and a few medical emergencies thrown in for good measure. I wrote the majority of this blog on my phone in doctor’s office waiting rooms, dance school waiting rooms, or while online at the coffee shop. (Yes, I’m THAT lady and you and Siri can just keep your judgy-ness to yourself.)

Because I have concerns about my child’s ability to survive in the wild with only books and pens, I’ve decided to revisit her outdoor survival training. We’re going to start with shelter. Outdoor Life has some great ideas for emergency shelter. I think I like the leaf hut best for our area, but I wouldn’t rule out the quinzhee, just because I like the name. I actually don’t understand how to build it, even after reading the description and looking at the pictures. I guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. So I looked up houses made out of books. The internet does not disappoint. Check out this book igloo from Flavorwire. No, I’m not kidding.

SHARE
Laurie Nigro
Laurie is the mother of two biological children and one husband and the caretaker of a menagerie of animals. Laurie is passionate about frugal, natural living. She was recognized by the L.I. Press Club with a “best humor column” award in 2016. Email Laurie