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…IT REALLY IS LIKE GETTING LETTERS
FROM YOUR BEST FRIEND!
There were years that the end of summer came with tears and tantrums—I can only account for mine. It used to be I never wanted the summer to end and see my kids go back to school. Not so much this year. Last week, they started the new school year with three half days. It was so cute to watch my teen and tween walk into school today holding hands. All that cuteness aside, it seemed, however, that as soon as we dropped them off at school they needed to be picked up again.
I knew this year was going to be a different kind of birthday celebration—the kind where we were quarantined. We usually observe birthdays in our house with some fanfare and a week-long celebration, a leftover from when B was gigging and traveling a lot. But this year, with mandatory isolation in place and all non-essentials closed to the public, our celebration would be modest. We’re not extravagant people, but I admit I was dispirited, aggrieved like I had lost something: no shopping to buy that one new birthday outfit, no new haircut and color, no date night out of the house, no friends, no chocolate party.
On the last day of school in June, Monkey Boy—my 9-year-old—brought home an entire year’s worth of in-class assignments and art, an amount equal to about three large trees, which has set undisturbed on my desk until this last week when I figured I should be parental and check his work, now that school’s been back in session a full two months. As a writer myself, I paid particular attention to his writing journals. He was required to journal every morning at school at least five sentences on any given prompt, such as, “What Did You Do Last Weekend?”
We made a large pan of Rice Krispies Treats, and by we, I mean the Girl made them while I supervised the process. I figured that I needed to encourage her culinary skills so that she would be able to survive on more than ramen noodles, microwave popcorn, and pizza in the eventuality that she will leave home for college in four years or so. Rice Krispies Treats are a cheap student essential that can be made with nothing more than three ingredients and a hot pot. Trust me, I know.
It’s that time of year—getting ready for back to school. When I looked at the calendar and saw that there are only two weeks left until school, I think I actually “eeked” a little. There was no way we were ready for school…clothes, shoes, supplies and other incidentals. I loudly proclaimed, “We need to get ready for back to school,” and then I marched into Monkey Boy’s room.
I am done with school, as in I am done with the kids being in school for this school year. Sure, I’ll send them back to school in August because by then I’ll be happy to see them leave the house and not return for seven straight hours. But today, I am done with school, and I’m excitedly, impatiently awaiting the last day of school—this Friday. It’s not because we have great summer plans, it’s more because I will not be getting up at super-duper early o’clock every single day. EVERY. SINGLE. DAY. Yes, when the alarm goes off every morning, it is officially super-duper early o’clock.
There was this one time the meal plan said it was salad bar night, and as you know, the meal plan must be followed—just so there’s no mistake, I write the meal plan, but I apparently forgot to send out the meal plan memo. And just so you know, not everyone in the house is as big of fan of salads as I am.
When the school announced the date and theme of the dance in mid-January, they also announced that the dress code would be semi-formal, in that no jeans or casual wear were allowed. They asked students to wear something that they might wear to church. The Girl scoffed out loud, and when she told me, we laughed hard. Obviously they did not know what I let my kids wear to church: ripped jeans, sports pants, shorts, flip flops, and/or T-shirts and hoodies. And hats, not fancy Southern, church-lady hats but knit caps, beanies, snapbacks. “We gotta find you something to wear,” I said.
Last week was Valentine’s Day. And this year we—and by we, I mean me and perhaps the Girl—were going to hand make all our Valentine’s Day cards for Monkey Boy. We had a plan, too. We were going to pick 30 small, colorful and interesting rocks from our garden (we’ve got thousands) and make pet rocks with googly eyes, an alternative to candy. The Girl said she had a bunch of googly eyes in her craft box and plenty of hot glue sticks to glue on the eyes. I had plenty of small clear plastic bags for the pet rocks and lots of cardstock for the “You Rock” Valentine’s Day cards. Perfect. Except it didn’t turn out that way.
Monkey Boy likes to use my shower. Knowing that means there should be no surprises. You expect the unexpected. Once upon a time, all four of us shared a bathroom. At our last house, we had one bathroom. Mind you, it was a huge room, almost as large as the bedroom the Girl and Monkey Boy shared. All four of us could be in the bathroom at the same, standing in different corners and when reaching our hands toward each other, we would not have been able to touch fingers. We never actually tried that, standing in different corners, but there were times when all of us, and the cats, were in that room at the same time. There were also times when there was a line at the door.
B spent no small amount of time in the freezing cold getting the outside of our house Ho-Ho ready. He took a cue from one of his Christmas heroes, Clark Griswold, and strung lights on the eve and along the ground by the front porch. He placed wreaths on the windows and candy cane lights under the windows. He directed red and green spotlights to the two large evergreen trees in the front yard. He light-wrapped two of the front trees, the small ones, in white and blue lights. He also lined driveway on either side with 12” candy-cane solar lights that sparkle red at night. After he lined the driveway, he warned us all to be very careful with the lights after last year’s candy-cane light trampling debacle perpetrated by a negligent Monkey Boy. (READ TO END…THERE’S A FREE GIVEAWAY!)
about Kat
Kat Groshong is a writer and graphic designer who lives with B the Rock Star, the Girl and Monkey Boy in an old white house on the corner in a town in southern Michigan. There are now three tomcats that lives there as well and demand their food dishes to be full to the top at all times. There are swift and dire consequences when that fails to occur. READ MORE HERE.
Kat's bio photos were taken by Amanda Danziger. She also took the family photos on my HOME page. Check our her work at www.amandadanziger.com.
And just like that, it’s Autumn…Yesterday morning as we were getting up and ready for our day at the dark and cold hour of 6 am, B started a small fire in the fireplace to take the edge of cool off the family room. And after the mad dash to get the kids out the door so they wouldn't be tardy for school and I wouldn’t get the automated phone call to let me know my kids were tardy for school, I climbed into the chair closest to the fireplace and turned on a worship service YouTube. The ambiance in the room dramatically shifted from commotion to tranquility. I closed my eyes, and I felt transported to another time and place.