37? Not Our Choice

There were so many of them, Moms, a few Dads, many with children. They packed into the library last week, Friday being decision day, looking for something to tell them that this was right, this was the place. From the back of the room I watched, and listened to the very convincing presentation from the principal, the principal who really wants his school to be the best that it can be. I had heard it all before, just a year ago I was touring, listening, hoping and making the decision. And now the decision is made, so I sit back and listen, impressed with what I hear, and so happy to only be eavesdropping.

Of course if given the opportunity I am happy to share with anyone who cares to listen just how wonderful I think this school is, and how encouraged I am with what I see happening every day. A principal whose door is open, almost always; a teacher who asks the right questions, and is always ready for the onslaught of hugs she gets before the morning march into class; involved and interesting parents, and an diverse student body full of children eager to learn all lead me to believe that we made the right choice, even if it was made five days before school started. Mary and Kate's lifetime of education is off to a great start, and that is what I really wanted in a kindergarten, a place for them to be safe and to learn that school is a wonderful place full opportunity.

It is possible that the Chicago Public School system doesn't agree; threats to drastically cut the budget mean that we could quite likely see classrooms bulging with 37 students. Teachers could be reassigned, music teachers posing as kindergarten teachers, in the name of seniority. Gifted programs, varsity sports, bilingual education, and full day kindergarten are all at risk. And the real insanity is that parents are being asked to make choices for next year without the full benefit of information; the deadline for school registration was Friday, April 16th, and the budget has yet to be released for next year.

It appears that my volunteer librarian gig is safe, unlikely that the new budget will allow for an actual paid librarian to take over the job I love. The responsibility falls to the parents, to paint and shelve and read and raise money to protect the things we find basic and offer the chance to continue to dream of things we hope to someday have. The big schools have committees, the small schools have raffles, and auctions and parents who work hard to keep libraries open and science labs possible.

Sunday Morning Mercury

Two weeks ago Jack and I were packing up the contents of our buffet, in an effort to clear some space in our dining room, thinking that at some point in the near future we need to put our little apartment on the market and move (we are packed in here, all five of us). We found a small wooden teardrop'd shape thing, old and curious. And we found that it opened, and then mercury poured out, all over the table in the family room, and the rug, and the husband. I called poison control, yes, mercury. Eeek! Do not use a vacuum, must call the fire department, immediately. Four big red trucks pulled up in front of our building and in came about six firefighters in full firefighter gear. Mary and Kate, who had been sequestered in their bedroom with Eleanor Roosevelt, were fascinated. Lots of mulling around a then a call to the chief, seems our local fire guys had never seen mercury before. Five firefighters marched downstairs and one was left, Mike, to guard the room. The chief arrived, he surveyed the "spill" and called for a HAZMAT team.

Mary and Kate, still locked up in their room, begged for breakfast. I offered bananas. The HAZMAT team arrived, another six firefighters in full gear waving scanning "things" all over our apartment. They scanned the spill, they scanned our shoes, they scanned Mike's firefighter boots, they scanned Eleanor Roosevelt. Our shoes were ordered into a bag for cleaning, Eleanor was ordered into the bath, and poor Mike, his boots were bagged, leaving him with firefighter shorts and dark socks. Luckily the mercury level in our apartment was low but being that it was still mercury, we must call on another to opine on our situation. Chief, and HAZMAT leader, thought our table and rug best be tossed out into the alley, never to be seen again. Splendid! The table, a beautiful antique farm table, and the rug, a very valuable antique Persian, would be so well suited to the world in our alley. Every rodent in the back would love making a home in that beautiful rug. And so the EPA was called. This being a Sunday morning, it took the EPA guy about and hour to get into the city from who knows where. I let Mary and Kate out of their room, we moved onto the front porch, waiting and watching. He arrived, and offered this opinion of our little hazardous spill, "vacuum, there's not enough here to cause any damage. Thanks, and I'll take the original vessel. Have a good day".

The rug and the table were very happy.

Occupation

Whenever I have to fill out a form that says "occupation" I put writer because I cannot bring myself to write MIDWESTERN HOUSEWIFE, MOTHER OF TWO, NO INCOME, COOKS DINNER BUT DOES NOT CLEAN OR IRON. My third grade teacher, Mrs. Unruh, encouraged me to write. She never, not once, encouraged me to be a housewife. I don't think I can let Mrs. Unruh down. Third grade was when I met my best friend Brad, earned a blue ribbon in writing in the curriculum fair and became terrified of house fires after watching a "Be Prepared, Scare the Children" movie in class. And my sister was born, third grade was a pretty good year.

Bicycle Built for Four

I have spent the past month, possibly six weeks, in search of a bike trailer. Knowing that my three year olds may have only one summer of use in this thing, I have made every effort to be frugal and yet find one in which they fit comfortably. Costco sold a Kidarooz that was perfect and when I finally, after much research, decided that this was the one, they sold out. Not one available in Chicago. I turned to ebay. This past Sunday I decided on one, a Burley, that was being sold by a woman in the suburbs. I made the arrangements to drive out Monday morning to pick it up. Sunday night my bike was stolen. Seriously.

Barry Manilow's Birthday

Barry Manilow and I were supposed to have a really good day Tuesday. June 17th is a great day, and I have celebrated with wild abandon on that day for years and years and years, as I hope, has Barry. Mary and Kate's understanding of the phrase "it's Mom's birthday" seems to go no further than the knowledge that at some point during this day they will be offered cake. I distinctly heard their father tell them "be good, have fun, it's Mom's birthday" before he dashed off to the office. Mary and Kate heard "cake, cake" and so went about their day as often they do: occasional listening, generous laughing, and wild silliness. They did not make me tea, they did not offer to clean up the kitchen after breakfast, they needed help getting dressed, tying their shoes and brushing their hair. Mary and Kate were three, regardless of how old I was on this day. So here I am, on the other side of forty realizing that birthdays, while wonderful, may not be the national holiday that I have long known them to be. At the end of the day, it was a wonderful day, and I got a little older, as did Mary and Kate and Barry Manilow.