Once upon a time, there was a little boy. The little boy could speak by age 1, and shortly thereafter was dubbed the Funniest Human Alive by all those lucky enough to cross his path.

He had other talents as well. He was the first boy in his class to blow bubble gum bubbles, he can burp a burp that will make you stop, look, and feel general concern for his physical well-being. He is an amazing artist, loves the guitar, and is a fabulous wing man. In fact, in a laundry room in the basement of an old apartment building, he once totally picked up some guy. That guy is now his godfather.

Boy’s got mad skilz, yo.

He has one other god given talent; the Great American Pastime, Baseball. To see that boy throw or hit a ball is like watching poetry get smacked with metal and flung through the air at 60 miles and hour. He’s good.

His momma signed him up for Little League, and due to the world’s most incompetent group of Bud drinkin’ idiots a scheduling error or two, the boys team had no coach. The boys momma volunteered. The boys momma has never played a day of baseball in her life, and was given a group of children to coach who were shipped in from Hades 2 days a week to get some fresh air and exercise. When the season was over, the boy had learned only one thing; he was better than every kid on that team. Not just talent-wise, but, like, character-wise.

The boys momma got down on her knees and cried in front of a candle lit alter to the mother of sweet baby Jesus in all her glory when the season ended.

And then that moron had the boy try out for the select team.  He got on the team.

This weekend, you will not be hearing much from the boys momma, since she’s got to be up well before dawn cracks its ass to get three kids out the door for 2 solid, action packed days of 8 year old Little League Championship games. Which the boys team is not nearly good enough to win, thank god, because if this crap goes on much longer, the boys momma may start hittin’ the drink.

Cross your fingers for the boy, okay? He looks mighty cute in his little uniform.

(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’.

(There’s free stuff at the bottom. Just sayin’.)

On Thursday, I will officially quit the PTA. I loathe the PTA.

This wasn’t always so. Once upon a time, yours truly was elected PRESIDENT of a PTA in Denver. And then she moved to Canada. And then she moved back to Denver, and was elected TREASURER of the PTA. And then she moved to Canada.

I was never the vice president, but I spent two years happily filling the position of President’s Bitch. I actually wrote that on a nametag at one of those Back To School Night things PTA’s seem to love to throw. The president didn’t think it was nearly as funny as I did, but I was the President Elect; what was she gonna do about it?

My job as P-Bitch was to do whatever the president asked me to. She told me one year they were thinking about selling school supplies as a fundraiser. This shit was right up my alley. Spreadsheets, order forms, bundles of things. I volunteered my soul services to the cause.

Here’s how it went. We asked the teachers for the next years supply lists. We received 12 completely different lists for 6 grades and 2 special ed classes. We then sent out order forms the last week of school to the families and emailed the holy freaking hell out of them all summer long. All vacation, we window shopped. We watched flyers, checked online site, we stalked #2 pencils like they were Jodi Foster. The month before school started, we hit Target. We hit Target with everything we had, our Red Cards that give back 3% to the assigned schools in hand. We hit them early in the morning, and gave it to them alll day long, and 15 bazillion hours later we walked out with two trunk loads full of supplies.

We then gave our children the totally awesome super fun task of dividing those supplies into piles based on orders. We then recycled every grocery bag ever used in the history of mankind to package those supply bundles into handy dandy packs. And then we delivered them. And then we spent two months chasing people down who had forgotten to write us checks. Or bounced those checks.

Some went to classrooms, some went to homes. Some went straight up my ass for all I know, because no matter how many spreadsheets I created, the fucking numbers never matched. The first day of school, though, 95% of those kids had a full compliment of markers and tissues and dry erase markers, and 5% of those kids parents had some loud words for us.

I call that a success. We made a little money for the PTA, and only two of us had total, complete nervous breakdowns.

Um, dudes? Right after yesterday, when I was apparently born, someone out there figured out that this arrangement sucks and got into the busines of doing school supplies.

There is a company in Denver, and guess what their name is? EZ School Supplies. Guess what they’re in the business of? Yup, E-Z School Supplies. I think I just cried a little.

The school supply coordinator (on their end; read: not a mother of three who wants to drink heavily by July) takes your school supply lists (provided by the teachers, the parents, or your friendly neighbourhood P-Bitch) and they SAVE IT. You go search for your school, click on your grade level, and hit ORDER. You can customize your supplies, add backpacks and water-bottles and stuff, too. In the mail a little while later comes one very snazy little school supply pack. They also provide marketing supplies for the PTA. Now, as much as I know you like those huge reams of paper and that glitter glue (don’t huff it, shit burns, yo) having it pre-made is pretty freaking sweet.

And no one has to lose their mind.

The best part is that if you order as a PTA, your PTA gets 10% of the net sales rebated back.

And no one had to lose their minds. The best best part is that EZ School Supplies gave me a code to give to you for 10% off orders.

::If you scanned all that and are reading the last lines, here’s the nutshell::

10% off School Supplies ordered with the code through this blog.

10% back to the PTA if your school signs up as a group.

Delivered to your door.

And no one had to lose their fucking minds.

I have this nifty little button, and it will sit in my sidebar all summer long. Click it, enter the promo number, and order away.

And I happen to have, right here in my hot little hands, a sample school supply pack that they sent me all the way up here in Canada, even though they don’t actually ship to Canada. And I’m giving it away. My ten year old said it was “Wicked Cool” and that I couldn’t give it away, but he still picks his nose, so his opinion doesn’t matter.

Leave a comment, and tell me your worst PTA horror story. The worst that’s ever happened to you, the worst you’ve heard, the most hideous PTA person you’ve ever met. Or just say, Hey, hook a sister up!  And remember, you’ve got some stiff competition. Winner by popular vote doesn’t have to go school supply shopping at all this year. And maybe I’ll throw a metric ruler or some maple syrup in the box, just for good measure.

How to get Kraft Dinner served actually for dinner in 20 easy steps:

1. Send daddy out of town for 4 days. Make sure he doesn’t get one single day off of work for 2 weeks straight upon his return.
2. Find a way to give your little sister shingles. While your dad’s out of town.
3. Decide that $10 isn’t worth it anymore, and stop doing ALL of your chores.
4. Make sure dad works late every night, keeping mom up past midnight every night waiting for him to get home. Get her on a good schedule.
5. But still need to be dressed, fed and at school by 8:55 am every day.
6. Work it out so that your little brothers gets good and beat up on the playground at school.
7. Guilt your mother into thinking that it’s somehow her fault for making him the middle child, and then send her to Science World to try & buy his love. After a long meeting with the principal, of course.
8. All with your little sister.
9. Who is two.
10. At naptime.
11. Go on a field trip while mom and siblings are at Science World. Smash your foot into something.
12. Go to doctor’s office, then to the Radiology department at hospital with mom, little brother, and little sister.
13. Who is two.
14. At bedtime.
15. Feed your little sister a rock of crack cocaine, ensuring that she will not sleep anytime before 2 am.
16. Drag your mom out of bed the next morning for Little League practice, make her take you to get crutches, and then take all of you for haircuts, and then the grocery store, all without dad but with your little brother and your little sister.
17. Who is two.
18. Over lunchtime and naptime.
19. Remind your almost-comatose mother at 6:30pm that children have to eat in order to continue not dying.
20. Feast upon your Kraft Dinner.