Tonight, she is a school night.  See Mr Lady do a little happy dance of joy.  Dance, Mr Lady, dance.

We did absolutely nothing that we’d planned to do this summer.  We’d hoped to take a family vacation, and I totally screwed that up with my trip to San Francisco for BlogHer and my trip to Denver for the DNC.  We’d talked about spending a day at the PNE (like Six Flags, without the awesome) and that just never happened.  We’d aimed for spending so much time at the pool that we’d all be golden brown (or fire hydrant red, depending) and, well, it never actually was summer here.  The pool isn’t nearly as fun in 60 degree weather.

Still, we had a really fabulous summer.  We had minimum of one broken bone (we’re still waiting on x-ray results about a possible #2; see, black eye that appears to be a fractured eye socket.)  We had two gnarly, deep, wide cuts that got totally infected and required bottle after bottle of peroxide.  We had one slipped disc that just kept right on slipping thanks to a dad that refuses to realize that at 35, maybe skateboarding and doing back flips off swings isn’t the hottest idea anymore (except that yeah, one of us still thinks it’s totally hot, icyhot and all.)  We intended to plant a vegetable and/or herb garden in the back yard.  I’ll just giggle about that for a second and move on.

We did manage to turn a 3 bedroom house into a four bedroom house, making one 10 year old instantly become one 14 year old, and one 8 year old become an overnight neat freak.  We got one 2 year old into a big girl bed, only to realize that we’ve failed in almost every way raising her and until we do our job better, she’ll still need to be barred in and locked down every night.  We created three night owls, who cannot sleep before 11pm, and refuse to wake up before 10 am.

We have bought exactly ZERO new shoes, new pants, new shirts, new pencils, new notebooks, new protractors.  We could not be more unprepared for back-to-school if we tried.  We did get haircuts, and really?  We could have made 15 full, luscious wigs from the hair we hacked off in one day.  We Mr Lady people, we have hair for miles and miles.  The 10 year old got his first haircut that he orchestrated completely on his own.  Turns out, my kid really likes looking like Beatles.  The Walrus beatles, not the Insect beatles.

We found last years’ lunch boxes, and found last years’ ravioli, still in them.  Add New Thermos to the shopping list.  We managed, with a lot of vinegar and a little bit of love, to get the dead crab smell out of last years’ backpacks.  Add Febreze to the shopping list.  We found last years’ winter clothes, and learned that two boys can grow quite nicely over 3 months on a diet consisting solely of Pop Tarts and Kraft Dinner.  Add a totally motherfucking new wardrobe times two to the shopping list.

We also discovered yesterday that my neighbor, arguably my best friend up here in Canuckistan, will be taking over for 2of3’s teacher last year as Head Teacher at our school (like a Vice Principal without the pay) and this is really fabulous because A) I love her B) my kids love her, and there’s a good chance she will have one  of them in her class and C) as Head Teacher, she has to attended every PTA meeting, so I’ll totally have a buddy there.  Except, wait, that sucks ass because I was totally intent on quitting that stupid PTA and now I’m all roped in by my best friend neighbor who is all “Dude, don’t leave me hanging all by myself in there, yo!”

Fuck.  Me.

So, tonight I will be frantically washing and stretching out one outfit per kid so they can look like their parents give half a shit tomorrow for their first day.  I will be digging through the piles of school crap that came home last June and were promptly shoved into the back of a closet, praying to every god I can think of that there are a few pencils and two notepads that are less than half-way full of Pokemon doodles.  I will be drugging my children at 8:30 with something that will make them sleep at a decent hour.  I will be flossing their teeth for the first time in three months just like I do every night, because I am a good mom.  I will set the pomade out on the bathroom counter and plug in the blowdrier for Mr My Hair Must Look Perfect For School, and I am totally going to cry at 8:55 am tomorrow, just like I have every year for 6 years straight now, as I send my frumpy, unprepared and very excited boys off to the wide world of 5th and 3rd grade.

My baby boy, my first born, is in FIFTH grade.  Oh, god, I’m going to die now.

For Natalie.

Once upon a time, I had a 5 year old son. He was S.O.O.O. excited to start kindergarten. School lunch, full-day classes, desks? Like chocolate dipped heaven, that.

He kept a few of his pre-k friends, but since he was only half day pre-K, he didn’t get to meet all the kids who’s parents were anal-retentive tightwads who forced their four year old to go to school 8 hours a day when they still weren’t capable of staying awake for 8 hours straight because THEIR kid is special and THEIR kid needs the head start into kindergarten cool kids until he started kindergarten. When he did, Captain Social shined.

He made tons o’friends. He was The It Boy. Everyone loved him, and he schmoozed all their mothers Eddie Haskal style, so he always had a playdate and a group of kids who loved him. He changed his name in kindergarten to simply TXU, because it’s cool and that’s how he rolls.

His very best friend was named Sam. Sam was funny, and edgy, and taller than him, and was living with some teachers at the school. Sam was also a girl. Sam came from a really bad home. Sam’s mom was a drunk and a drug addict. Sam’s mom and boyfriend did stuff in front of her. She moved in with her sister and her husband, who were both teaching at the school (as was the husband’s mother, both of my boys first grade teacher, and is the greatest teacher in the history thereof. Just sayin’) and began a normal life with normal people while her big sister battled her mother in court for custody of her.

I. Loved. Sam.

Sam needed something. I don’t know what it was exactly, but she wasn’t horrid or evil or naughty or clingy. She was just older than she should have been, you know, and she needed to be five. I was more than happy to let her be five on my watch.

2of3 and Sam were Best Friends Forever. They were inseparable. They had play dates all the time, they sat next to each other at lunch, she came over so I could babysit her when her sister and brother had to work late.

They all lived a few blocks up from us on the street we all walked down to school each day, so most days we’d catch them at the corner and make the 4 block walk from my house together. One day, however, we were running a little late. We hit the main street and started walking down when we saw Sam and her brother a block ahead of us.

“Hey, mom, there’s Sam!”

“I see them, honey.” *walk walk walk*

“But, yeah, I can’t tell you what I have on her.”

*giggle* “Why can’t you tell me, dude?”

“Because she told me not to.”

*gulp* “Um, now you have to tell me.”

“I have a crush on her.”

“I kinda figured. And what does that mean, to have a crush on someone?”

“It means that I sit next to her at lunch and we hold hands sometimes, too. And there’s one other thing we do, but she told me not to tell you that, either.”

*gasp* “And what is that? You have to tell me now.”

“Well, sometimes we kiss. Like this.”

And that tiny little five year old stuck his tongue ALL THE WAY OUT. And I puked in my mouth a little. I patted him on the head and as we walked on, I made a mental note to enforce that No Doors Closed rule I have a tad bit more strictly.

(Personal aside, I was 18 the first time I stuck my tongue down someone’s Dorito laden, Dr. Pepper Drinkin’ throat. That boy is miles ahead of me.)

Free stuff time, boys and girls. I know it’s not as cool as Joeprah’s Camera giveaway or anything, but school supplies are important, too. For a refresher; EZ School Supplies has given me a pack of supplies to give away, and is also offering 10% off school supplies for the upcoming school year ordered through this site.

I know I said I was going to have a popular vote for the winner, but I lied. There are 41 entries, and I am a lazy summbitch. So, I ran the numbers through a randomizer and voila! Out popped the number 18.

This one isn’t funny. I had a BIG fight with some stay-at-home mom’s I was jogging with (I was working part-time then, just as a reference point) and they were saying horrible things about the moms that worked and didn’t help volunteer.

(I was a meager volunteer myself, by their standards and probably was getting defensive, to be honest.)

But I was defending the working moms against these privileged PTA Nazis, saying that some people CAN’T ask off an afternoon for a party, or they’re single moms, too tired at night, or….then I said to one girl whose hubs is a big time lawyer here, “Hey, why doesn’t Mark take off an afternoon to volunteer?”

She says, without irony, “Oh, he couldn’t do that!”

My blood pressure was probably almost deadly after that…

Funny thing was, that was one of my favorites.  But, and of course there is a but, that was actually my second favorite entry. My first favorite was this:

I like the look of that bottle of prozac on the side of your blog. Will you send me that as well if I tell you about the P&C president who slept her way to the top?
No, it wasn’t me.

True story. In the end the school mothers discovered that she had slept with all of the school fathers and ran her out of town. I LOVE living in the boonies of Australia.

That one I actually told to my husband. And eerily enough, when I hit the Again! button on the randomizer (because you know I sat here for a full 20 minutes just refreshing and refreshing. Also, I am easily distracted by shiny things) the very second number it kicked out was #1. Which is the number of that comment.

And while we’re at it, here’s my third favorite:

OK. You ready. Sure?
Mothers Day stall. I was vice president of the PTA only because no one wanted the bitch with her head so far up the principals arse any where NEAR some sort of ‘position of authority’.

Some bint decides she is gunna make stuff for the stall. I tell her that some of her costs can be reimbursed but she has to call Bitch From Hell to find out. Bint doesn’t call BFH and hands me a BILL for a HUNDRED FREAKING DOLLARS! I take it to BFH going WTF? And she pays it.

Oh, OK then. THEN I get called to the principals office to explain why *I* have cost the school so much money. Um, huh? Turns out BFH told the school board that I was going around spending all the PTA money. Oh yes she fucking did! AUTHORITIES were called in. I had to explain while BFH stood smugly. Long story short, PTA was disbanded, blamed on me and now BFH does ALL the fund-raising etc on her own. Just like she wanted…

Apparently, I just need to move to Australia where all the cool shit happens.

As much as I am dying to have MomoFali’s address, I’m going to cap this sucker at three. I am now, officially, leaving it up to you. Vote for your favorite, and 24 hours from now, the winner will be announced. All variations of lying, cheating, stealing and other assorted acts of incredulous behavior will be allowed, perhaps encouraged.

(I wanted to wait until I had responded to all of your comments before I continued, but you all left such good, thought provoking comments that it’s taking me a while to get to them all. I will, pinky swear.)

Today was the last day of school for my boys. I sat in the pick up lane, waiting for them to come out of the school, and I watched. I looked through the sea of smiling faces and found the top of a pair of crutches. There’s my boys.

They lingered before they came down to the car. High fives were exchanged. Email numbers were scribbled on scraps of construction paper. Goodbyes were said, and summer began.

My oldest limped his way into the front seat, and the smile left his face. “Mom, I cannot wait for September.”

Huh?

I remember that same feeling. I loved school. I was an academic. My oldest is, too, and the thought of taking that away from him pains me. My youngest, Mr Punching Bag, got into the car and I asked how his last day was. I got the same response I’ve gotten all year, “Oh, you know, it was kinda boring, but now I feel like a 3rd grader, so that’s cool.”

Not thank god that shit is over, not why’d you make me go back there woman, just meh.

We came home and I sorted through their papers. 1of3 finally made honor roll. 2of3’s report card had glowing remarks of ‘progress’ and ‘above grade level’ and ‘what a joy’. And then I got to thinking about the good stuff that happened this year.

1of3 joined choir, track, cross country and leadership council. The award for citizenship he received yesterday at the awards ceremony held seven different stickers for excellence in citizenship, and with glowing, beaming pride, his teacher informed me that he had more than any other 4th grader. By a lot. He volunteered in class to help the new student who didn’t speak much English follow along. He was a lunchtime monitor and reading buddy to a kindergarten classroom, and said goodbye to “his kids” with tears in his eyes.

2of3 had a harder time. He made friends slowly, and isn’t the world’s best Attention Payer, so he had a bit more acclimation to do in class. His teacher noticed that he was constantly folding his papers rather than doing the work assigned on them, and asked if he’s ever tried origami. She went out and, out of her own pocket, purchased him a small origami kit. She then designated every Friday noon to be 2of3’s time to teach the classroom some origami. She found his strength and interest, encouraged it and scheduled it. Once a month, she sent him home with a little note thanking him for making her laugh, or teaching her how to make paper frogs, or for drawing her a great picture. My son was completely validated all year long by someone outside of my home, someone in no way responsible for doing so. He LOVES that woman.

Both of my sons speak a little French now. Both of them can explain to me what the hell a kilometer is (not that I can remember it, mind you). Both of them now worship Terry Fox. Because of school, they’ve learned how to ride a city bus, learned how to handle themselves in a corner store on their way home to buy a treat, have planted trees, volunteered and donated to charity, and made friends that don’t live right by us, people they wouldn’t have met otherwise.

Would all those things happen if I homeschooled them? Most likely, yes. But at school, they feel like they are part of something bigger than themselves. They aren’t just listening to me rattling off more crap to them; they have teachers that they look up to and respect and want to work hard to please. They have a social network well beyond what I have, one that is diverse and colorful.

At school, they have themselves. They get to be who they are, not who they think I want them to be.

I don’t want to take that from them. I don’t want 2of3 to miss out on another teacher discovering how totally fucking awesome he is. I don’t want 1of3 to miss out on next years’ kindergarten class. And dear god in heaven, don’t want them to miss out on grade 7, because the grade 7 teacher who didn’t make eye contact with one other parent yesterday at the awards ceremony but waved me down half-way through it, the one who patted my shoulder in the hall and said, “See you next Christmas; you know you’re helping out in my classroom again,” well, he’s so freaking unbelievably hot it makes me stutter. Like, so hot it makes stuff tingle. And if we can just get through 4 more years, I will have had 2 school years to “help out in the classroom.”

Which would be totally awesome.

I am considering homeschooling my kids. Like, seriously considering it. Mas Younon just rolled over in his yet unused grave.

See, here’s my thing: I’m not the world’s biggest fan of the concept homeschooling. I’ve nothing against it, per se, I just really want the public education system to work. I think it’s important that kids learn how to sit at a desk in a room full of other people and work (that skill is 99.96% guaranteed to come in handy later.) I like that feeling of new school clothes, that smell of fresh paper, the field trips and the sack lunches. It’s childhood, yo.

I swore I’d never homeschool my kids. I don’t exactly like them enough to spend every day with them am NOT a trained professional. I don’t cut my own hair, and I don’t attempt to teach. But, honestly, after the events of this school year, I am changing my mind.

I know that I was really lucky to fall into the school I did in Denver. I choiced OUT of the rich, white, uppity school and choiced INTO the 75% free and reduced lunch, 30/30/30 racial split, 10% special ed, median income, low-to-average test scores school. This? Could have sucked. This? Did not suck in any way.

That school tried. The staff and parents worked together, and very hard, to create something amazing. Our school sits year after year on the chopping block in Denver Public Schools because attendance is low and the space is unused. Why? Because we refuse to give up the 3 special ed classrooms for more average students. We LIKE those students. We like all the diversity. It creates well-rounded humans. We avoid getting closed year after year because our poor, ghetto, half empty school crushes the competing schools test scores year after year. Our Bully Prevention System (PE Ace’s) has been featured on every local news channel in Denver. Our PTA raises something in the neighborhood of $50 thousand dollars annually to hand over to the principal so we can keep para-professionals in the classrooms, so every child gets art and music, so PE is an every day class, not just once or twice a week, so we can devote time to getting Lights On After School Grants to provide free or amazingly low cost after school activities like science, band, etc to EVERY CHILD who wants it.

We fought for that school. For the staff. For the community. We believed in something, and we made it happen. It’s happened, yo. This year, the school is at maximum enrollment. The snotty, rich, mostly white families are bringing their kids in, which sucks but makes raising $50K a little easier. And our community deserves that. The kids who don’t have, who can’t have, their parents still give time, which is JUST as valuable, and the parent who do have and can have give a little money, too. And that school is a home for people. All the people, not just one select group.

There has not been one incident of playground bullying in something like 10 years there. There are no violent incidents, there are no parents who don’t know what’s going on in the classrooms. That school breathes together. Problems are tackled head on, and even the most troubled students are helped to find some one thing that fills their void in the school day.

We got all this from a city public school who is in a budget deficit of $50 something thousand dollars a year. Who can’t afford the paper for teachers to make photocopies. Who was told 5 years ago that gym, art and music were being cut.

We. Showed. Them.

And then I move to an affluent suburb of a damn near socialist country. Everyone has health care. The schools have everything they need and more. And my damn kid gets beat up 4 times in one school year. My son who was 1st chair in the orchestra since grade 2 can’t play in the band until grade 7 here. He can’t even TRY OUT. There are no after school activities. I have never once received a letter from the teachers filling me in on what my sons are learning.

I have been choked to death for cash, however, which I have given and then sat in a room listening to parents debate whether to spend that cash on board games or new coolers.

The difference? No one is fighting for anything. I am surrounded by a bunch of people who assume this is owed to them, or who assume that their job is black and white. I’m not saying this is a Canadian thing, because reading your responses in the last post, I see that this is fairly universal. What does your PTA do for you? What extra mile has your school taken for your child? Apparently, most people answer none.

Dude, I’m sorry, but that is not okay in my book.

Am I a trained teacher? No. Did I even bother going to college? Um, no. But I am smart, and I know how to read, and I am capable of learning. I can teach these kids, I know I can. I am working on algebra right now with them, just for fun. Why? Because I don’t have 30 other kids hollering at me and I can take the time to see that 2of3 is already multiplying at 8, which means he can divide, too, which means he can DO ALGEBRA. It’s not rocket science, it’s just working with my child’s abilities and strengths.

And so, I am considering homeschooling them. I know that I am blessed beyond all compare to be able to stay home with them, for the very idea of this to be even possible, and so while I can, I may. But I feel like maybe I’m missing something, or overlooking something big here. The socialization? The learned ability to co-exist with others, to respect authority? The scheduling skills? I don’t know.

I would honestly really appreciate your input here.

PS: There’s still time to put your name in for a free school supply pack from EZ School Supplies. Just sayin’.