So last week Oldest started at her new Super Smart People School. Yeah, that’s what I’m calling it because that’s what it is. Anyway, after she trundled off last Monday with her four bags of school supplies she came back that night with a bag stuffed to the brim with more stuff. Different stuff. Stuff that required me to start digging out insurance cards and looking up the numbers for doctors and all that other good stuff. But there, at the very bottom was two pages stapled together and unlike the other papers these were a lovely shade of periwinkle blue. And there at the bottom I spotted a permission slip. Crap, could they be going on a field trip already?
Oh if only it were a field trip. Somewhere educational like a museum or a dairy farm or I don’t know where. No these lovely periwinkle blue pages were for the upcoming class presentation where they will show off all the things they’ve learned about Ancient Rome and perform a play about Julius Cesear.
I look at Oldest and think to myself “really?” But there she is, large eyes shining at the idea of being in a play and before I know it I’ve signed the permission slip and wrote a check for $10 to take part in the pre-show pizza dinner to benefit the technology department. We don’t even eat pizza in my house because Hubby is a celiac and youngest just curls his nose up at it. Which means after said play I’m going to have to take them out for dinner anyway so they can all get something to eat while I choke down pizza from school.
I make my peace with this because it’s what you do when you have kids and schools. Right? Until the next day when another form comes home—this one lavender. And I feel my eyelid begin to twitch because I’m learning that if it’s on pastel paper it’s going to involve something. The lavender paper said – Costumes for Play: How to Make Your Super Smart Genius Child a Toga (Because even if they are doing Calculus we don’t trust them with a sewing machine).
Great. Because if school plays, choking down pizza for a good cause and otherwise socializing with people I’ve never met before weren’t bad enough. Now we’re going to show off my nonexistent crafting/sewing skills. And let me repeat this most important part – to people I’ve never met before. Ever. Not even the teacher.
I am so hosed. That’s all there is to say about it. I. Am. Hosed. Now, if you’ll excuse me—I have to go back to sewing and figure out how the Hell to make a shoulder pleat.