Dropping Off and Picking Up.

      Before I began working in the school, I dropped off my little boy in the morning, then picked him up in the afternoon. I'll never forget his very first day of Kindergarten. He was oh-so-adorable! Big backpack, tiny legs, lunchbox swinging at his side. I could just eat him up with a side of gravy!
      Just look at him bouncing up the sidewalk to the door! Look at his cute, blond curls. Look at him singing to himself. Look at him pulling the door open...uh-oh! The door's not opening.  He tries again, wrenching as hard as he can. No dice. I roll down the window. "Pull harder, babe!" He does, throwing his entire body into the effort. His butt is nearly on the sidewalk because he's tugging so hard, yet that damn door isn't budging.  I hurriedly get out of my car, noticing a horn honking behind me. "In a minute!" I yell and throw a friendly wave. I open the door for him, (seriously heavy door, by the way, The BoE should look into that.) and tousle his golden curls with my hand as he passes beside me heading for his classroom. I flash a toothy, shit-eating smile to Impatient Parent in a "heaping coals of fire" effort, then drive away and burst into bitter tears. I later drowned my sorrows in a pint of cookie dough ice cream. First days of school suck.
  
       At the end of the school day, I used to get to school an hour before the closing bell so I could be one of the first in the car rider line. My daughter, thanks be to all that is holy, took this opportunity to nap. It was a blissful hour where I read books, played on Facebook, or listened to music. It was a wonderfully relaxing moment before the afternoon bustle of homework, supper, baths, and bedtime. I loved the car rider line.
    
      The car rider line.  DUHN DUHN DUUUUUUHN!  (dramatic enough for ya?) This was an entirely new experience. Parents all converging to line up their cars and pick up students. I quickly made a mental note of Impatient Parent's car; hoping to also spot Impatient Parent's child so I can be sure my kids avoid them. What? Like you wouldn't do the same?
      Sitting in the car rider line was how I spent two years of afternoons, and I can tell you, I've seen some crazy shit there. I've seen kids picked up on Four-wheelers, (truth!) giant, saber-toothed, man-eating dogs in pick-up trucks, and parents napping in their cars with drool dripping down their chins! I loved the carnival of it all, but by far the craziest, and by "craziest," I mean most entertaining, was mom-in-jammies.

     Mom-in-jammies, AKA Pajama mama, AKA highly entertaining train wreck. I'm sure you've inferred that she wore her pajamas to pick up her kids, but she was notable for so much more.  There is no way I can possibly convey to you how much I enjoyed watching her. My afternoon was spoiled if I didn't see her.  She would get out of her box-shaped car, breaking an unwritten rule of the car rider line in doing so, and walk to other cars to visit with parents with whom she may or may not have any acquaintance with. She'd lean into rolled down windows and blow cigarette smoke into their faces as she chatted. Her moon and star pajama pants would flutter in the breeze as she strolled. Yes! That's what was so striking. SHE WAS STROLLING! She walked with such ease and grace and happiness that she could have been doing the "season" in London Park. (note to self: you read too much Oscar Wilde) Yet she was wearing her pajamas! Her entire "ensemble" was comprised of the afore mentioned pajamas, a dingy tee-shirt (or "baby daddy's" over sized and faded polo shirt), and no bra. She flopped those titties around like one of those women from National Geographic. There were even some days where she'd wear the same pair of pajama pants as the day before! Those days were my favorite. I couldn't stop watching her and Facebooking about her. She made my day, even though she did once ash her cigarette on my car as she walked by. I even dressed as her for Halloween. Mom-in-Jammies was my very own trashy reality show. I so miss seeing her regularly now that I work in the school, but every now and then, I'll catch a glimpse of her through the windows and I'll smile.  She's still just strolling beside the cars, not a care in the world.  She isn't even paying attention to Impatient Parent laying on their horn at her. I hope she ashes her cigarette on their car.

  

"WRITE!"

     "Write!" She says. "You should start a blog."
     "What would I write about?"
     "You could write about being a mom of a child with autism, going back to get your degree in Library Science, or all those community theater things you do. Write about anything. I'm going to start one."
     "Well, if you will, I will, though I've no idea what to write."
     "You'll figure it out."
  
     Cut to a week later. Im staring at a blinking cursor that is daring me to write. No, taunting me. Taunting me with every blink."Write something people will want to read." BLINK  "Write something clever." BLINK "Humorous." BLINK  "Poetic." BLINK  "Educational." BLINK  "Inspiring" BLINK  "Life-changing!" BLINK,BLINK, BLINK!

     Fuck you, cursor. I'm just going to write about my life.
  
     I have the best husband. Nope, yours isn't even in the running. Does yours look like an underwear model and handwash the dirty dishes? oh yeah? Well, does he bring you fresh coffee in bed of a morning? NAKED? I didn't think so. I win.
     So, my day begins with hot-naked-husband and coffee. Downhill from there unless I win the lottery, and I never play the lottery.
     I sit and enjoy my first cup of the day, lustfully licking the rim of my cup while eyeing the husband. A quick glance at the clock and I know we've no time for morning sex. Damn. Regretfully, I throw the covers back and start the day.
     Cue the morning rush.
     Pick out clothes, do hair and make up, down second cup of the day, get kids up, get kids fed, give kids clothes to put on, fight with daughter over her outfit, put shoes back on son's feet correctly, kiss husband for packing our lunches, grab backpacks, grab lunch boxes, kiss husband goodbye, out the door! Whew!

     Back in the door, I forgot my keys.
  
     This morning routine is relatively new for us. Until last August, and the beginning of the school year, I was a stay-at-home mom. Now THERE'S  a blog I should've written. Breastfeeding, crying babies, screaming babies, dirty diapers, solid food, potty training, toddler tantrums, son with seizures, autism diagnosis, and (GASP!) school!
     I suppose everything was too zany for me to have time to write.
     This past August, our youngest child began Kindergarten, and so my days were open. Time to look for a job that pays, as opposed to the one I've had for 8 years that doesn't. (don't believe what you read about "sticky kisses and hugs" being payment. You can't spend that shit at H&M.) I applied to work at the kids' school, and got hired on. Whoo-hoo, throw the confetti! I'm a teacher's aide! I get to make minimum wage!
     Whaaaaaaaat? Tuba fart. fwah fwah fwaaaaaaah.
     At least I get to keep an eye on my kids while making minimum wage.
     It's been a fun school year so far. Plus, being in an elementary school has reawakened a long tucked away desire.
     I can remember so clearly attending my elementary school. It was the biggest building I'd ever been in, I was terrified of getting lost. My Kindergarten teacher quickly soothed those worries by explaining that the school was laid out like a capital H. I suppose the poor kids who hadn't yet learned their alphabet prior to the first day of school had to take a ball of twine or some bread crumbs to avoid getting lost.  I loved school. Oh, I how I loved school! I loved always having the answers, making crafts, singing songs, playing on the playground, and the LIBRARY!
     Our librarian was the most beautiful creature. She had a head full of that 1980's Ash brown hair that feathered like Farrah Fawcett's from a center part. My limp, dirty blonde hair was so jealous. She sat in a brown rocking chair and read books to us. She made stories come alive and we could see them so real, playing cinema like on the walls of the library. I used to practice reading to my dolls the way she would, attempting with my small hand to hold the book open so the dolls could see the illustrations, and I could see the text, even though I was faux reading. Going to the library was my favorite part of school. I wanted to be a librarian just like her.
     This young dream was quickly squelched when I learned that I could sing well. Now, wait a minute, that's not entirely true. It was squelched when I first heard the APPLAUSE after singing, That did it. Librarians don't get applause. I was meant to be on stage!
     I was onstage for much of my life. I performed this show and that show, always looking to "make it big." Instead, I fell in love, got married, and made babies. I had completely forgotten about the librarian dream until I walked into the school library at work. All of a sudden, I don't care about applause.
     I'm planning to finish my bachelors degree this summer, and then begin my Library Science degree in the fall. TA-DA!
     I suppose this blog can serve to chronicle that journey, or I could always write more about my hot-as-hell-husband.
     Either way, she says, "Write!"
     So, I am.