parents – From Ordinary to Narrative

There are few journeys as rife with drama and intrigue than school pick up. Yes, you have your Jason Bournes and the new Wolverine and Deadpool if you swing that way, but the school pick up hands – or claws, Hugh – down, has them beat.

First in the long line of dramatics, is the school parking lot. Whoever designed apparently every school parking lot in existence, is still laughing. There are never enough spaces for the number of parents who consider it a banner day when the stars align and we manage successfully to play musical parking spaces except without the music or the fun.

All of this amounts to me leaving 40 minutes early so I can sit in the eerie calm before the storm. I wait and ponder what excitement will come my way. I should cherish this time, ideally live it up. Bring a cold drink, maybe a few snacks, an eye shade, and a small pillow. Maybe bring out the nail polish and various accoutrements of self-indulgence. I should do this not to pamper myself but to fortify myself for the onslaught that awaits me every day at 3:40 like a twisted version of groundhog day. The nail polish probably won’t work, because there is a slight tremble to my hands as I wait expectantly.

The weather is the second variable to consider. I’ve stood outside the school basking in the warm glow of the sun’s rays and marvelling at the beauty of nature. I’ve also sought non-existent shelter from wickedly cold winds and storms pelting me unforgivably. It seems to be a natural law that bad weather if coming will hit 10 minutes, give or take a few, before pick-up. Although I have no actual proof, my own empirical and impeccable, if I do say so myself, research suggests that this rule holds true from school to school and region to region.

Then we have the unveiling of what six hours navigating the turbulent waters of elementary school could bring to four impressionable children prone to leading with the most dramatic version in their retelling.

The youngest may be smiling from ear to ear or perhaps barely able to walk upright with the weight of the day bearing down on her tiny shoulders. The oldest will appear disappointed that it is I who picked them up despite the fact that I am always the one to pick them up. Or alternatively, she will say that I didn’t greet her enthusiastically enough. I usually get this wrong when I read the room, or in this case, the school grounds. The middle children will be a toss up. “How was the day?” I ask. “Bad. I hate it. I had a supply. My sandwich fell. My water bottle spilled. My carrots didn’t taste good. You forgot my fork. You put the wrong lunch in my lunchbox.” So in response to my inquisitive and perhaps naive question, I get a litany of my failings. On other sunnier days, I get a “good. Teacher took us outside to play. I won a lollipop from the teacher,. I got to be leader. We made pumpkins! There is a new seating plan”. That last one works in both the positive and negative column. Then I have to remember which child Maria is and if she is the nose picker or the pencil sharing child so that I may arrange my face accordingly. One child at some point as we wait for one or more of their siblings will say in an impassioned plea “can we go?!” This is before they have all been let out. When I mention how I should probably not leave the same sibling I came to collect at the school overnight, this child finds this an absolutely ridiculous consideration.

Despite the children arriving in a staggered fashion, very quickly I am employing my ability to multi-task and multi-listen as everyone must talk at the same time. If I don’t focus on each child speaking, again my failure is brought to my attention. There are also days when the day has been too much and instead of rapid fire accounts of their days, there is nothing. No recognition that I haven’t seen them since the morning, and apparently they sat at a desk without any stimuli or thoughts for six hours. In this case, there is an uncomfortable silence and then we leave as if no one knows each other and I am left to fill in the day as it might have unfolded. I follow this now with my own rapid line of questioning that borders on badgering the witness. How was the day? Did you pass in your work? Did you play outside? Was there a supply? Were you able to ask the teacher your question? I begin to sound a little unbalanced. I’m too much. I get monosyllabic answers. No one will talk.

It is almost guaranteed that by the time we reach the van, someone is crying, someone is fighting with at least one of their siblings or even themselves if no one else gives them cause, and on an unlucky day, someone might even walk into the side mirror in the overcrowded blessed parking lot.

Now armed with what seems like more backpacks than children and loose hats, perhaps an unwieldy diorama, a paper crown, ever leaking water bottles if they found their way back, perhaps a gift made of napkins given by a friend – Maria? No, must be Josie, Maria’s medium would surely be Kleenex – we weave through the kiss n ride, a mile to the van. Without fail, before I can hit the unlock button someone has tried the van door four times and now we have messed it up. Wait, open, click. No, now. Stop. Eventually, with eye rolls and pleas, theirs, not mine, we stumble into the van. Someone steps on someone, someone hits someone with a backpack, no one is sorry and all are so, so hungry. Apparently, I didn’t pack enough for their lunches. It’s 3:43 and we will do this all again tomorrow. Maybe I’ll leave a little earlier to get a better parking spot.

Despite its ominous title of “The Last Day” of school, this is a day of celebration. One more school year over. A shortened day. Light school activities, not even with the keenest ear can any book spine be heard opening. It’s a day of more social interactions and, one hopes, the enjoyment of bonds created. It’s a day to reflect on the events since September. For parents, they are left spinning after the exit from the house with all the excitement, anxiety, and thrill of these powerful minds trying to take it all in and at the same time not knowing what they are supposed to take in.

At our house this morning, we had an early riser pouring her heart into last day teacher cards, a full crisis about what shirt to wear on a civies day, an eager heart halfway out the door and a drifter usually reluctant to leave, all in to present gifts to teachers. There was a water bottle that opened and poured all over the living room floor. Not for the first time. One of the dogs drank some and walked through the rest. We fell out the door with cards, book bags containing only lunches, report cards to be returned, last minute dollar store gifts and homemade glue-gunned creations for reading buddies and anyone else who made an impact this year. We were late obviously and, dare I admit, not for the first time. Then too late – a theme – I realised I had a forgotten paper to pass in and the fretted-over creations were left on the dining room table. Back I went again to face the front desk for what wasn’t again the first time this year. I’d pat myself on the back for getting it all done as long as it doesn’t have to be done in a pretty way. The report cards I read this year would perhaps not be so positive if the front office wrote mine. This mom should make more of an effort to arrive at school in a timely manner with all appropriate tools to be ready to learn. In my defence, I don’t feel like it’s effort I am lacking given my sweaty brow by drop-off. Effectiveness may be more my issue.

Why the last day has this much importance is odd. We had similar departures for school many, many times this year, just ask our neighbours. The forgotten item was different or there were tears because of a ripped paper or holey shoes, or a perceived bad hair day. Perhaps there were a few sibling squabbles that made punctuality a problem. There were days that the faces in the van were all crooked in angst or anger or perceived sibling slight. It happened so often it feels rehearsed by now. And the chaos of the departure and one hopes subsequent arrival at school is only the manifestation of all that went into actually getting these funny littles creatures into a building to learn.

The last day, if one gets a moment though, is a time to reflect on all the effort by children, parents and school staff. All those reactions and decisions both big and small that may have been appropriate or way off base have all lead here. This year was our first year back after being in virtual school during Covid. The fall was difficult for both our children and us. Firstly, with what felt like a leap of faith, we opened ourselves up and received all the illnesses like most people. It seemed a virus reared its ugly head every other week – RSV, covid (again), Strep, flus, cold. Most had a name unlike previous years and came with high fevers, absences, worry, doctor’s visits. For the fall, certainly it felt like at least one child was always home and then they would switch places with a sibling. I am sure the couch has a worn spot for having a feverish little body sprawled on it. While the illnesses certainly had more urgency to them, the social learning curve was steep. For the first time in some cases our children had to learn to navigate the dangerous and possibly rewarding world of their peers. At dismissal, the day would spill out in a jumble. It was my job to decipher what it all meant, if action needed to be taken or just a listening ear. Advising children in relationships you haven’t actually witnessed is a tricky business. Asking children to tell you what happened leaving room for emotional perspective and understanding of others while holding their best interests at heart is no small feat. With lack of practice for all of us, the year felt like a marathon.

Then there were the academic challenges. Teachers were a little scary in many cases. Some endeared themselves early on and they have the most ardent supporters in my children. Others needed to be understood. When the teacher said the class needed to behave and happened to glance at you, was she actually saying you were misbehaving or was it the guy that put a hole in the ceiling with the ball? There was much to learn and with giving up the reins to the school, it was indeed difficult. We asked our children after making our best decisions to keep them safe, to build skills up and build them fast. Fortunately, the teachers were exactly what we needed – understanding, approachable, and hard working. Despite the ever increasing demands on teachers, these individuals could make or break our return to school. The teachers were paying attention and we are very appreciative. I just hope a child’s scrawled note and small box of chocolates is understood to mean the heartfelt thank you and appreciation their contribution has meant to our well-being.

So as I sit here contemplating what the last day means and wondering how many minutes into the vacation someone will fight, I guess it is an important day. As my daughter said “what’s the big deal? It will just start all over again in September”. It’s true. Lunches, new teachers, classroom shifts. Oh no. The angst. I can’t think about that now. And maybe that’s the point. Today is the day to celebrate all that was accomplished. It may seem small to the outside observer. You saw me late to school, but you probably don’t know what we faced just getting there. School is now paused. We regroup and let the significance of being 5, 7, 12 , whatever age, settle and go again. The children have grown since September in many ways and will face the grade differently again. It is one of life’s bigger moments, even if common. I suspect our exits next year will be much the same in tone. But we will exit and that in itself is fairly new for us.