This year I missed the poignant Return to School; on the first day I was out of town — so far away, in fact, that calling home would have cost me $2.29 a minute, and it wasn’t worth it since at least one of my kids spends virtually every phone call yelling, “MOMMY?  MOMMY?  IS THAT YOU?  WHAT? WHAT?!? I CAN’T HEAR YOU, MOMMY! WHAT?!?” because he puts the receiver up against his head not his ear.  Not mentioning any names, of course.

(True story: when we got to Newark, on our way home from Beijing, I called home to talk to the boys.  Henry got on the phone and said, “Hi, Mom, did you do anything interesting this week?”

I said, “Well, buddy, I went to the Olympics.”

“Yeah, other than that — did you do anything INTERESTING?”

I was glad I hadn’t paid $2.29 to have that exchange with him.  Seriously.)

Anyway, this year I didn’t write any heart wrenching posts about the first day of school, or about how Mah Baybee was starting KINDERGARTEN OMG how is that POSSIBLE?!?  Apparently I was too busy ogling Michael Phelps to have any time to be sentimental.

Gratuitous Michael Phelps. You’re welcome, Internet.

In the past, the start of school has always been fraught for me.  On the one hand I am overwhelmed with relief that NO ONE WILL BE TALKING TO ME for a solid seven hours every day; on the other hand, I am waiting in fear for the phone to ring because I know for a fact that one of these days, the school will call and it will not be to tell me what a great day the boys are having.  Usually, though, I have a good three or four weeks before I have to talk to anyone’s teacher about anything, which is just about long enough for me to think that maybe, just MAYBE, this will be the year that the school NEVER CALLS!

Idiot.

Today, Henry forgot to bring his homework folder home, which of course was a CATASTROPHE that occasioned MUCH yelling and jumping up and down (all him, I swear to you).  So we got BACK in the car and drove BACK to the school and found his teacher, who informed us, very very nicely, that in second grade, when you leave things behind in the classroom, you have to go ask the principal’s permission to come back in after school is over to get them.  She started to explain to me that this helped teach the kids responsibility and self-reliance and …

She didn’t have to explain.  I wanted to kiss her — I love that policy.  I also may have told her that this was the ONE AND ONLY TIME that I was going to drive Henry back to school for something he forgot.  And I swear to you she looked relieved.

So Henry went into the principal’s office and waited for her to finish up on the phone and told her what his dilemma was and was very polite and apologetic (although he was a little stumped when she asked how it had come about that he forgot his folder because of course he has NO IDEA and it might have been aliens or ghosts or teeny tiny pigs that made him forget).  We got the folder and came home and started the Long Slog of Homework Doing (which is going to KILL ME before the year is over — not the homework per se but the KID who takes FOREVER to DO the homework) and I started to really really wish that I had gone to the liquor store because whoa I could use a drink about now.

Wait, what?  Oh right — kid forgot his homework folder.  Right.

And now you’re thinking hey that’s not so bad! what’s she complaining about?  How about this: after not eating his dinner and nearly falling asleep with his face in the plate, Charlie climbed into my lap and snuggled up against me, and I said to Wade, “Does he feel hot to you?”

101 degree fever.  Woo!

So Charlie will be home with me ALL DAY tomorrow, and he probably has strep throat which he will NO DOUBT give me and that will REALLY screw with my whole home alone working all day thing.

I guess it could be worse; I could have to talk to him on the phone and listen to him yell, “WHAT?  MOMMY, I CAN’T HEAR YOU!!! WHAT?!?”

More gratuitous Michael Phelps. Because WHY THE HELL NOT?