I love my kids. Really, I do. But we send them to this school so they can learn a bit and be social a bit. But this school, to which we pay a healthy sum for the opportunity to send our kids there daily, has made it a habit of calling me to come pick them up on a weekly basis. And I don't mean when it is time to pick them up; I mean like in the middle of the day because Buddy coughed or Reanie had a runny nose.
This week, I've had one or the other child here for three days. It would be one thing to just have them here from when we wake up until we put them to bed, but what this is has to do with dropping them off at school, coming back home to work, only to have the phone ring just as I fire up the computer. "Mr. Williams, this is Joanne from the Merryhill School, and Reanie/Buddy has...you need to come pick him/her up and take them to the doctor."
See, at this school, when they tell you to come pick up the kid, you have to have a doctors note for them to return. So, you lose the time that you had to go pick them up, the time you were going to work now that you have them at home, AND the time it takes to take them to the doctor.
So, I've been sick the last two days--sore throat, coughing up oysters and whatnot. This morning, we had to get everyone rolling earlier than normal because Mama had to be at work earlier than normal. My truck is in the shop, so we are down to one vehicle, and that means everyone piles in. But me. I get to stay home and be sick and be working. Fine. Cool.
25 minutes after everyone leaves, the phone rings. Mama says I need to take the kid's swimsuits and towels up to the school because it is "Splash Day." Hokey dokey. I'll ride my bike and take them up there. The car shop is very close, and I can go pick up the truck while I'm at it.
Took me 20 minutes to find their swimsuits.
Then Mama called and said she left a folder on her desk that she needs for work, "please bring that to me this morning." No problem. Forgetting things happens (right, Noah?)
Just as I'm stuffing everything into a backpack, Noah's Mom calls and says she's on 407 (a main road around here and the same road in which the car shop and the kid's school is located) and asks if I could meet her to get the Big Boy. "Sure," I tell her, but you'll have to meet me at the car shop, since I'm on my bike and have to pick up my truck..."
Just as I stuff my phone in my jersey pocket, it rings. This time it is the school. Reanie seems to have a "rash" and is "scrathing a lot." "Please pick her up and take her to the doctor."
I ride to the shop, pay the guy $200 for a hose, which isn't much of a stretch to create the metophor--I got hosed. Noah jumps out of his Mom's car, helps me load my bike and stuff, and we drive over to the school to give them Buddy's swimsuit and pick up Reanie. Both kids are soaking wet, by the way. They tell me that, "We tried to keep her dry."
I grab the soaking Reanie and hand over the now pointless swim suit for Buddy, and we pile in the truck to take Mama's notebook to her.
Now that we are home, Reanie wants to show me every picture she is drawing, and she wants banana and apricot. Hearing two year old girls say "apricot" is enough to make you stop what you are doing and get it just because it is cute. But she's on apricot #4.
Ain't no work getting done today, and Mama leaves for NYC on Sunday.
[ Oh, and a special note (read: inside joke) for Rob, Burke and JR: ... ]
Reanie's ailment? The tag on her shirt was rubbing her back.
Mama and I get to argue tonight about keeping the kids in this school. She loves it, and I think it is a decent school but a huge pain in the ass. I get more done here having the kids underfoot than I do by dropping them off only to turn around and pick them up and take them to the doctor 2 hours later. And then wait the 24 hours that the school says they must wait if they are ever picked up early due to itchy tags and whatnot.
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