Dear Teachers of the World

At this very moment, I have five field trip info sheets on my refrigerator. One Field Day sheet, one special book report thingy to do (another sheet), and the various papers of info for other activities like ballet recital info for Mud Pie, band concert for St. Nick. Just a moment ago I received an SOS from Fish's teacher: "We need drivers for the field trip tomorrow! And volunteers for the end of school party! And items for the gift for our student teacher! And a lunch mom for today!" And and and and ...

I know not everyone at this school has four kiddos; some might consider four kiddos about two (or three) too many. But I do know everyone with kids at any school is busy up to their eyeballs at the end of May. Whether planning vacations (oh, to be so lucky!), fixing backpacks and homework folders so they can last three more weeks, or debating 5th graders on the value of practicing their band instrument when the school year is so close to being over. We're swamped.

Teachers, I love you. But can we breathe a little? Regain our sanity a moment?

Ok, I'm being whiney. Call the Waaaahmbulance. Why so grumpy, you ask? I think it was second grade.

I'm in favor of parent involvement. Of course I am! I was on library committee until Rowdy was born, I take photos for Boosters, I've tried to plan one party and drive for one field trip for each kid this year. We've attended nearly all special events from Carnival to concerts to Fund Racer to Mom's and Dad's nights. But add to this volunteer involvement, mandatory involvement and you get ... me. annoyed.

For Fish's class we started the year with Log Cabins. A "family" project. I spent hours picking up sticks, showing Fish how to use the hot glue gun, collecting pebbles, scouring the craft store for deals. I got photos from Grandma Daisy -- Fish's Great Grandma who was born in a log cabin in, like, 1815 (kidding Gram!!! XOXO!!!) -- and made a cute little "What it was like in the Log Cabin" info sheet from a letter Gram wrote. I even hooked a mini rug for the teeny tiny log cabin's sandpaper floor and planted real plants in the teeny tiny log cabin garden.

Our stick-built log cabin

Our stick-built log cabin

Once that project was over, we had a Biography Poster. I spent a lot less time with Fish picking a biography from the library, typing his report as he dictated, helping him find photos of King Tut online, helping him glue them to his poser board, encouraging (forcing) him to color and decorate his poster.

After that we had the Revolutionary War Wax Theartre. This was St. Nick's project, not Fish's, but still. Weeks of Goodwill Hunting, sewing, listening to St. Nick practice his speech, more sewing. A little more sewing. (I believe I've mentioned my hatred for sewing.) All to transform St. Nick into a very convincing young Benedict Arnold.

A convincing Benedict Arnold?

A convincing Benedict Arnold?

And now, at the very end of the school year. Fish again. Chapter Book project with ... drum roll.

Hats. Homemade hats. Homemade @#$%$#@ hats.

I don't know, I think this was the straw that broke the camel's hat. Back. Whatever. Fish called while I was at the grocery store last night to tell me he made his hat. With duck tape and peppermints. My thought? Thank god, now I don't have to help him with it. Has he read the book for the report yet? Um, I haven't asked. And you know what? I might not. That's just the kind of negligent mom I am.