I picked Percy up from school yesterday and he handed me a de rigueur ‘Mother’s Day is Sunday’ confection carved out of bright yellow and red cardstock.
‘It’s a boat! With sails!’ I exclaimed, gazing at the red trapezoidal shape and the two yellow hand-shaped cut outs serving as sails. ‘No, it’s a flower pot,’ he protested, ‘the hands are flowers.’
If by ‘flower pot’ you mean bonsai tray.
Each flower-slash-flag contained a reason why he loves me.
I love you because you make my lunch.
I love you because you take me to baseball.
It’s not my first rodeo with this school-issued mother’s day card business, and I realize I shouldn’t read too, too much into the messages they contain, yet I couldn’t help but feel these were exceedingly perfunctory tasks he supposedly loved me for.
Ones that could be easily done by, say, a hired taxi driver. Or maybe a really nice neighbor.
Could he not have, at least, mentioned the (almost) nightly Harry Potter readings?
The truth of the matter is, things do feel perfunctory around here in a way they haven’t in previous years. For various reasons, none of which is interesting enough to mention, our calendar has morphed in appearance from something vaguely respectable (we are not sitting around watching Netflix for hours…every day) to something akin to Rosemary’s Baby (we eat in our cars! we have to be in three places at the same time! we need to use more exclamation marks!!)
In an effort to keep everyone informed about the day’s happenings, without resorting to handing out devices with synched calendars – which I’d probably need the 13 year old to manage anyway – I have turned to the exceedingly low tech: white dry erase board.
I actually didn’t have the wherewithal to come up with this idea on my own. I was using pieces of paper! Cut from the IKEA Malo roll shoved into my craft cupboard! Until someone walked past my wasteful relic, pointed at the dry erase board in my kitchen and said: ‘you could just use that.’
Despite its tenuous [dry…erase] nature, I use the board to record who needs to be where at what time, as well as the boys’ daily responsibilities (piano! baritone! tidy rooms!), the things I need to pick up at the store when I make my almost-daily trips (mustard! floss!) or the amount of cash I’ve borrowed from their piggy banks when pressed to cough up, say, $20 at 7:30am for a fieldtrip. (Who am I kidding – fieldtrips don’t cost $20 anymore.)
I have turned into the person who borrows money from her children. I have turned into the person who uses a dry erase board to communicate with her family.
‘Do I have a game tonight? ‘Look at the board!’ ‘What time are you leaving?’ ‘Look at the board!’
I love you because you put my schedule on the white board.
Despite its impersonal nature, I like to think ‘the white board’ has drastically reduced the amount of times I have to ask and re-ask the boys to do something. ‘Drastically reduced’ not ‘eliminated’. It has also increased the number of time-related phone calls I get. ‘Where are you? You said you were going to pick me up at 5:50 but it’s 5:50 now and you’re not here!’
Sorry, I should have written 5:53.
The three musketeers, despite their differences are remarkably similar in their appreciation of numbers, especially as they relate to the clock.
In addition to the white board, I have also had to change my approach to meals. Most weeks (if I can find a couple of hours at the start of the week) my strategy is making a lot of food and putting it in the fridge for whomever, whenever, wherever.
Sometimes, like this week, it means having a few options at the ready: polenta, sausage and ratatouille, chicken, and ham, mushroom, spinach tart. Other times, like last week, it meant having chicken, rice, black beans three days in a row.
I love you because you feed me quesadillas every single night.
It’s a season, as everyone likes to say. One which feels every bit as blurry as the toddler years. Except the toddlers don’t go to bed at 7pm anymore. And my eyes refuse to stay open past 10:30pm.