School is out in ten weeks, and this summer may be the most complex yet. Emily has a job unpacking and setting up at the middle school, twelve hundred notebooks. Don’t ask. Laura has art classes, and works for Mrs. P several days a week. Emily has college orientation. Laura wants one week at camp. We all want to visit Ann.
Getting my grip was essential. I emailed the band director and said I was resigned to being chained to the band from August until the football team lost its last game; just let me know when in August it all began. The reply: the first mandatory band practice is July 20th; band camp begins July 24th; blablablablabla.
Laura, on the other hand, is so excited about learning to march!
Tonight the annual Facts about Marching Band arrived. I pushed “print” for fifteen pages, and I sent Laura to the studio to take the packet from Aunt Jan’s printer. It fluttered over her head, coming back. “The stapler, the stapler, before I lose any.” I sent her off to read it, but still had most of it read into my ear, feigning surprise at each new page.
“Oh, no, gramma, it says ‘do not staple the medical forms!’” I handed over the staple remover and Laura disappeared. She reappeared with the packet rippling in the breeze, again, and returned it, announcing “I kept the packing list.”