The school fees have been paid.
The teachers have been assigned.
And I have absolutely no information about Danny's bus route or pick-up time. But that's how we roll here in the Chicago Public School system.
Regardless, I have spent the final hours before the first day of school labeling folders, notebooks, disinfectant bottles, and Kleenex boxes. I grumbled along the way. Why am I sending postage stamps for the third year in a row? Why so much glue? How many kids I am covering because CPS knows only a third of the parents will actually buy supplies for their kids? Is it too late to switch the boys over to St. Cajetan's?
|I had to take out a second mortgage for Back-to-School shopping.|
That was a joke.
I barely survived the summer with these hellions. If Charles Manson was the principal, I'd still be tossing them all on the CPS bus (should it ever arrive). While Joey is on "Track E" for school (they go year-round and already started classes), I've had to wait and endure hundreds more Back-to-School celebrity robocalls before finding my peace. Finally, at long last, I will reclaim a small snippet of the day where I'm not asked to wipe or wash something.
I've been playing Les Miserables' One Day More consecutively for 18 hours:
The time is now
The day is here
One day more!
So please, please Chicago. Don't allow a strike. Don't take away my only sliver of freedom and tranquility in an otherwise bleak and repetitive life. Please. Forget the children...
Do it for the moms.