Maybe this year, I'll make the Parent Honor Roll

I’ve decided this is my favorite time of year.

And the reason is simple, though perhaps somewhat pathetic:  we’re three weeks into school and I haven’t messed anything up yet.

Sometimes by the time school gets out in June, I feel like I’m looking back on a ladder of errors and missteps. Arriving late to a parent-teacher conference. Making mistakes on the library volunteer schedule that I’m responsible for organizing every week. Neglecting to refill the kids’ lunch accounts. Overlooking my room-parent duty to supply popsicles for Field Day.

The kids seem to make far fewer mistakes than I do in the course of a school year. But their responsibilities also fall into a narrower scope: get to the bus on time and get homework done. There isn’t a lot of room for error.

I take solace in reminding myself that school isn’t my job, and I make far fewer mistakes at the work for which I’m paid than the unpaid work of overseeing the kids’ schedules and events and my own school-related volunteer commitments. And it also helps to know I’m not the only adult making mistakes. Last year it was the day before Field Day when I suddenly remembered that supplying popsicles was my responsibility. “I would have been the first room parent in the history of the Carlisle Public Schools to forget popsicles on Field Day,” I said to Holly’s homeroom teacher. “Actually, the entire sixth grade teaching team forgot about Popsicles this year. We were relieved that you thought of it at all,” she confessed, making me feel a little better.

But it’s only the third full week of school. We’ve only just begun. No one yet has missed the bus on my watch or left for school without the proper early-dismissal note. So far we have a perfect batting average.

It won’t last, but it’s a good feeling while it does. The kids are always diligent about homework and routines; I’m the one who gets frazzled as the year goes on and makes out the check for intermural sports incorrectly or gets lost on Parents’ Night. So far so good. In another month, I’ll have mistakes to report, but at the moment, I’m passing both seventh grade and tenth grade as a parent.

Maybe this year I’ll even make the Parental Honor Roll, which I’m convinced exists in some secret place and lists all the parents who do everything right.

Or if not this year, maybe next.

Farewell to another school year

Most years, the last day of school makes me feel nostalgic and sentimental. This year seemed different, though. My two predominant emotions as the kids wrapped up fourth and seventh grade, respectively, with a half-day of school and noon dismissal yesterday, were mild exhaustion and significant relief.

Oh, there was still a pang or two of nostalgia. The end of a year always means changes ahead. Next year they’ll both be on the middle school schedule, which begins and ends one hour earlier than elementary school classes even though all the grades share a campus, so I’ll no longer get to see the littlest kids when I pick Holly up at school, and I’ll no longer have the fun of hanging out with the parents of the younger children as we wait for our kids to be dismissed. And yes, I teared up watching the school buses drive out of the parking lot while all the teachers formed a line waving goodbye, just as I do every year.

But for the most part, I’m less ambivalent than usual about seeing a school year end. Yes, it was a great year for both of the kids: they had excellent teachers, challenging work and good friends. But it also seemed like I had more responsibilities, and I’m waving goodbye to those duties just as cheerfully as the teachers wave goodbye to the buses. Even walking into the main building to pick Holly up yesterday, I found myself thinking “There’s the auditorium where I volunteered for fourth grade band duty. There’s the cafeteria where I chaired the faculty appreciation luncheon. There’s the stage where I spent hours helping out at rehearsals and performances of the seventh grade play. There’s the library where I coordinated volunteer shifts all year.”

Every single one of these duties is something I offered to do. I wouldn’t have had to do any of them; my kids would have been just as welcome and just as well-treated at school had I not appeared on campus once all year. No, these were all my choices. But they added up faster than usual this year, it seemed.

So for the first time in my adult life, I felt a little like a kid again as the last day of school rolled around. Just as when I was a student myself, I was ready for the year to come to a close. I was happy with what had taken place throughout the year – some of which I could take credit for doing and some of which I could only be grateful to be part of – but I was ready for a break from it.

Now, I have that break, and so do my kids: eleven weeks until Labor Day and the start of a new school year. Eleven weeks should be plenty of time to replenish our mental energy and feel a little less worn down by it all. Even to analyze it is somewhat self-indulgent: being a self-employed professional who can participate in lots of volunteer efforts because she has the luxury of working from home and making her own hours is nothing to complain about. And these aren’t complaints: just an exclamation of relief.

School is over for the year. It’s summer, a time for taking a break from it all. Even Holly has that feeling: she announced during her shower last night that in honor of summer vacation, she might stop lining up her shampoo and conditioner bottles in the shower every night after she’s done bathing.

I have no problem with that. If it makes her feel like she’s taking a break from the norm, then she can scatter shampoo bottles as randomly as she wants. We can all use a little break, and now that summer is here, we can all try to find a way to take one.

Volunteer lessons

The kids still have more than a week of school left, counting today, but I feel as if my part of the school year is over, because my last volunteer commitment ended today. As one of two room parents for Holly’s third grade classroom, I presented the teacher with a scrapbook (ably assembled by the other room parent – a fact that should be obvious for anyone who knows me and knows what the results would look like if I were left in charge of assembling a scrapbook) and a gift card redeemable at a number of Boston restaurants.

Both of the kids had a fabulous year at school. In third and sixth grade, respectively, they learned a lot, earned impressive grades, fostered new and existing interests, bonded with teachers, and matured in their relationships with their friends. So we’ll look back on the 2010/11 school year as an overwhelmingly positive experience, for them and for us adults.

But if I am to be honest, I know I didn’t earn nearly as good grades as the kids did, even though my grades are strictly hypothetical. I took on too many of the wrong kind of roles, and in a way it put a little bit of a damper on the year for me. Not enough of a damper to keep me from being happy overall, but just enough to serve as a nearly constant reminder that I’m not always realistic about where my talents lie.

As the school year began, or even earlier, over the summer, I was already experiencing a nagging anxiety that I’d made poor choices in terms of what I’d agreed to do. Along with room parenting, I was once again coordinating the school library volunteer program. I was also heading publicity for the sixth grade Spaghetti Supper and chairing the Walk-to-School Committee, whose flagship event was a walk-to-school day in which we arrange for crossing guards, “walking car pools,” media taking pictures of walkers, and prizes for all. I’d agreed to be one of three Sunday school teachers rotating duties throughout the year and one of three church “greeters” responsible for welcoming people as they arrived on Sunday mornings. I was also leading an ad hoc committee at church intended to evaluate multiple aspects of our performance as a worship community. Late in the winter, I took on the job of heading up publicity for the spring house tour. And when June came, I was in charge of the faculty/staff appreciation luncheon. That event took place just two days ago.

It wasn’t quite the right mix of jobs for me. Even though most of these efforts came with plenty of gratitude and praise from participants and onlookers, I was grudging about several aspects of what I had to do. I’m not a good Sunday school teacher for a number of reasons. I should have recruited more help for the two publicity committees I served on. The walk-to-school day was successful but culminated with the committee essentially dissolving because we felt that our mission – to get more school-aged children to walk or bike to school, and to ensure they could do so safely -- was unworkable. Tuesday’s faculty/staff luncheon worked out well, but it would have been even better if I hadn’t been quite so hesitant in going after contributions.

So I’m ending the school year feeling a little bit worn out: not resentful of all the things I was asked to do but doubtful of my own judgment. It just seems that I need a better perspective on where my strengths lie.

Of course, some of my volunteer responsibilities worked out well. Although Holly’s teacher ribbed me at times for being such a delegator, always sending out emails to find chaperones for field trips and never actually attending a field trip myself, every classroom need was met. The library program ran smoothly, with volunteers happily covering the shifts they’d asked for. The church evaluation committee delivered a well-received report to the congregation.

But I still think there are lessons to be learned. I still think at some point I need to figure out how to be more honest with myself about what I can reasonably do and which efforts I’d be better off assisting someone else with rather than heading up myself.

And that’s fine, because I’ll have plenty of opportunities to improve on my volunteer skills. Yesterday, I agreed to coordinate next spring’s faculty/staff luncheon; while it’s still all fresh in my mind, I want to think about how I can make it better. I’ll do the library volunteer scheduling again in the upcoming school year, and I’ve expressed my willingness to be a room parent again if needed.

Plus there are always new challenges. Tonight there’s a meeting of the sixth grade parents to discuss volunteer jobs for the class play. I’m trying to think about whether something different would be a good change for me: assisting rather than leading a committee, perhaps, or doing something not as closely aligned with my professional roles as publicity.

Since there’s no end of requests, there’s no end of chances for improvement. This year was a learning experience. Yes, I made some mistakes in what I agreed to take on. But I learned from them. Next year I’ll try to put experience into action.

It's very June

Hot sunny weather: nearly 90 degrees when I headed out to meet Holly’s bus yesterday afternoon. All my usual weekly deadlines plus a few unexpected assignments. A class gift to plan, a teacher appreciation luncheon to organize, an invitation for an end-of-the-year coffee to issue to the library volunteers. An email to send to my friend in Denver in hopes that she’ll meet me at the airport during my long layover there at the end of this month. All that plus the overwhelming desire to finish unpacking the boxes that remain untouched two months after our move: yes, we are definitely closing in on the end of the school year.

Of course, the wish to unpack boxes doesn’t seem directly related to the encroaching last day of school, but the connection is the same as the one I make to my unusually high rate of productivity in my work life lately: knowing that the kids will be on vacation soon, I’m intrinsically motivated to work harder and faster and get more done before school ends for the year. Additionally, I’m leaving for the Aspen Summer Words writers’ conference a week before school gets out, so I have an even earlier end-of-school-year deadline than usual. Ideally, I’d like all of these things wrapped up before I leave for the conference.

Not that my work will come to a stop. I’ll have my usual newspaper deadlines and miscellaneous client assignments throughout the summer, and that’s a good thing: it means I’ll continue to get paid throughout the summer as well. But I’m trying to get a little bit ahead now, and yesterday I found it particularly satisfying to figure out ways I could make the upcoming weeks easier for myself. Rather than planning my lead feature just for next week’s arts column, I penciled in ideas for the next four weeks. And I promised another client that I’d have an assignment done even earlier than he asked for it, just to get it off my plate before I’m really in a pre-departure crunch time.

Meanwhile, the non-work components of wrapping up the school year demand attention at every turn. My friend Lori and I are co-chairing the teacher/staff appreciation luncheon next week: we need to be sure we have enough entrees, salads and desserts to serve 150. As room parent for Holly’s class, I have to collect donations for a small gift for the teacher and remind the kids to work on their scrapbook pages. My friend Leigh and I coordinate the library volunteers and feel obligated to host an end-of-year coffee for them every year; we need to hurry up and get that on everyone’s calendar.

Plus we’re getting into vacation season, which means there are more far-flung friends with whom to try to catch up at more locations. I’m trying to schedule a beach visit with my college roommate, a time to see a California friend who will be in Boston in early July, and drinks later this week with an acquaintance who is visiting from South Dakota and wants some advice on a writing project.

And those still-unpacked boxes that have sat untouched since the end of March are starting to annoy me. Before I leave town for the conference, I really want to have our entire living space box-free.

So it is most definitely June, and most definitely a busy time, and yet I wouldn’t want anything to be different. It’s a busy, sociable time with plenty of motivation to stay ahead of the game. And right now, that’s what I’m busily trying to do.

The teachers and staff are back -- and they look happy!

There have been many mornings this summer that my daily running route has taken me through the school campus. I like being up there when no one is around, when the buildings are unlit and the plaza empty. It makes me feel like the school is hibernating, restoring itself, replenishing its resources, waiting for fall. (Of course, as a taxpayer, I only wish the school could replenish its resources merely by “hibernating.” But this is just its appearance, not what I really think happens.) I like the idea that the school campus not only empties out but sleeps all summer, a long rejuvenating rest for the buildings, the infrastructure, the systems, the lawns.

And not least, of course, the faculty and staff. Classes don’t start again until next Tuesday, and although I knew the teachers had a couple days of meetings before the kids returned, I was surprised to run up past the campus yesterday morning and see the parking lot half-filled with cars. Even though it was only seven-thirty, as I ran by, a couple of teachers were just getting out of their cars, briefcases in hand and coffee cups balanced on the roof as they reached into the back seats for additional supplies.

They smiled and waved at me and looked genuinely pleased to be there. They didn’t look rueful about returning. They looked energetic and cheerful and happy. And this is just what I love about them. It’s so easy for me to be cynical, to wonder how they can choose to devote themselves to hordes of children, day after day…only because it isn’t what I would choose to do. But to them, it’s not a consolation prize or a necessary obligation; it’s their chosen career.

They’re presumably just as devoted to teaching as I am to writing, and even if I half-expect them to approach the new school year with a mixture of apprehension and misery after their summer vacation, it shouldn’t be any great surprise if at least some – maybe even most – teachers look forward to the first day of classes just as much as I look forward to the article I’ll begin researching later today. Years ago I remember seeing a coffee cup that said “The three best reasons to be a teacher…June, July, August.” But the pace at the school yesterday morning reminded me that it’s not really a very funny joke – indeed, it’s a little bit offensive -- because in my experience, that’s not how most teachers feel. They aren’t in the profession for the time off; they’re in it for the time on.

As a parent, I’m so grateful that this is the case, especially as I look ahead to sending the kids off to school next Tuesday. Holly’s teacher has been through the first-day-of-school routine for close to thirty years, I believe. The fact that he can remain interested in each new set of children amazes me. And yet he seems to. Tim’s teachers in the middle school range in years of experience, but from what I’ve heard, none of the middle school teachers at our school strikes parents as jaded. Teaching our children is what they choose to do, and even if I still have the capacity to be surprised by their enthusiasm, they’re ready to start the semester. I thank them all for it, and I wish them a very happy and successful new school year.

Six-day back-to-school countdown

Last week I wrote here about the first stage of the back-to-school countdown. Somehow eight days have gone by and we now have less than a week to go before school starts. I figured I’d better re-evaluate how we were doing with our school-year preparedness.

On the plus side, I crossed off the last three items on the required school-supply list yesterday: a box of Kleenex and a roll of paper towels for each kid, plus a 70-page spiral notebook for Holly. (This is in addition to the 120-page spiral notebook and 100-page bound composition book on her list which I’d already purchased. Don’t get me started on those lists. As I’ve stated before, it’s not the volume of required items; it’s the arcaneness that gets to me.) On the minus side, Holly decided this morning that she was writing a story that absolutely could not be recorded anywhere but in a 70-page spiral notebook, so out came the one I’d just bought so that she could use it and back it went onto my shopping list. Why Holly felt this story could be recorded only in a 70-page spiral notebook, and not any other kind of paper or any other size notebook – such as one we already owned and didn’t need to save for next week – is unclear to me. But she might have a future as a teacher, particularly one responsible for making up required school-supply lists.

Tim’s haircut hasn’t happened yet. No big surprise there. Maybe tomorrow, he assures me.

The earlier wake-up times have been moderately successful this week. I’ve scaled the kids back to eight o’clock, which is an improvement over last week but still an hour later than Tim needs to be up. Realistically, it will be a trial-by-fire situation. He’ll start getting up at seven on the first day of school.

Tim’s making his way through the last section of the math packet. If he stays on course with a page or two per day, he’ll finish toward the beginning of Labor Day weekend. It’s not quite last-minute, but it’s not a model of time management either. Well, I suppose if he finished it too early in the summer, he would start to forget all those math skills by the time school was starting.

Holly still needs to draw her favorite scene from her favorite summer-reading book. She’s gotten as far as identifying in her mind what scene she plans to draw. Unfortunately, it’s two characters having an argument. I’ve suggested that might not be the easiest action to sketch, but she’s made it clear she has too much integrity to choose a feasting scene or a fishing scene just because they’d be easier to draw. Last night she packed up markers and paper to take with us when we head to Maine in a few days. She’s hoping to feel more creatively inspired up north.

So, admittedly, we’re still not quite ready. And I haven’t even approached that most dreaded subject of all: what to pack for the kids’ lunches and snacks. But we still have six days to go. As the pressure builds, we’ll surely grow more productive. And if we don’t? Well, school will begin anyway, and my kids will be there. Ideally with completed math packets, beautifully sketched scenes from summer reading, and healthy snacks tucked into their backpacks. Six days? It could happen. I’m optimistic about it. A new pair of shoes, a good night’s sleep, and they’ll be good to go.

As for myself, I’m still working on getting into the fall spirit. But the first step is getting them ready. Then maybe I’ll find myself full of autumnal energy. It’s possible. It’s even possible I’ll actually get Tim in for that haircut. It’s a new school year, and anything could happen.

Biking to school

Two weeks into the school year, Tim has fallen into a very satisfying routine of riding his bike to school. Fifth grade is the first year the kids are, as I like to say, “released on their own recognizance.” In the earlier grades they have to be either on a bus or met by an adult at the end of the day; starting in fifth grade they simply walk out the door once class is dismissed. Tim likes to ride his bike the short distance into the town center, pick up a snack at Ferns Country Store using his new Ferns charge card -- which he has to earn the money to refill -- and then settle in at the library to start his homework and, though I might wish it otherwise, play a computer game or two.

I love this routine because it gives him such a sense of independence, and that’s one thing about Carlisle that has not changed since I was his age thirty years ago. In such a small town, there are so few ways for kids to develop their independence in the way city kids do, by going places on their own or making any plans at all that don’t involve adults. Back in the 1970s, when I was in fifth grade, the middle schoolers queueing up after school at the country store – which had a different name then, and no charge cards – was a daily tradition, and it still is. Tim tells me in the morning what time he’ll be home, and he’s on his honor to leave the library at the right time to make that happen. He doesn’t have a cell phone; he just has to use good judgment and keep track of the clock, like I did back in the 1970s. (And I actually think he has better judgment about snack choices than I ever did at his age.) When he gets home, he’s buoyed by the independence and invigorated by the biking, and he has also usually finished most of his homework.

My pleasure in seeing Tim ride his bike reminds me of something that came up in an article I wrote three years ago about a family who categorically decided to give up use of their car. They live in a community near Cambridge that is much more mixed-use than ours; halfway between the suburbs and the city geographically as well as infrastructurally, it has sidewalks, neighborhood schools, and public buses. So they decided that they would rely on walking, biking or public transportation, even though their two children were under the age of ten at the time.

What interested me most in the interview was when the mom, Sarah, talked about how the family dynamic had changed somewhat once they gave up the car and rode their bikes to school, lessons and playdates instead. And it wasn’t exactly a matter of physical independence: at the age of about 8, her elder child still wasn’t old enough to pedal around town by himself. She still accompanied him, on her own bike, to his various activities. But dropping him off by bike was different. Merely by giving up the role of mom-as-chauffeur, she found that things had changed. Her children didn’t seem to have quite the same perspective on her as their means of conveyance. Even when she went with them, if they were on their own bikes doing their own pedaling, it lent a sort of egalitarianism to the relationship.

I found that insight so interesting, and that, more than environmental or financial reasons, has influenced me to try to cut back on driving the kids around. Even if I’m still with them when they bike or walk – as in Holly’s case I always am – I want them to see that kids don’t need to rely on grown-ups to orchestrate every activity and plan. As the children in the article about going car-free learned very early, kids do have the power to get where they want to go. Literally, and in some ways figuratively too.