I continue to be a fount of all things smoooooth and awesome in my everyday life. As you would expect.
Did I mention that back when I thought I’d 1) have two kids at the same public middle school and 2) would probably be spending a lot of time sucking up to the administration for services for my kid, I agreed to be an officer in our PTA for this year? Oh yes I did. Because no matter how many times I go through the “volunteer… hate everyone… hate myself… remember that I hate people in general… wonder what made me think I had time to volunteer in the first place… pray for the merciful release of death” cycle, just like childbirth, the memory fades and I decide to do it again. Because I am stupid.
Now I’m That Parent who had a hissy fit and took her kid and went home, but is still nominally in charge of Many School Things Despite Being Slightly Bitter. What could possibly go wrong THERE?
And because I am a very, very slow learner, I didn’t just land myself an officer spot, I responded to our (lovely, well-organized, and incredibly cool) president’s fundraiser suggestion with OH GOOD LORD I DON’T WANT TO HAVE TO BUY OR SELL CRAP AGAIN, PLEASE MAKE IT STOP. And then I followed it up with the suggestion that we hold a silent auction, instead. Because that’s more fun and you get to buy stuff people actually want and it’s a fun night and SURE THING, I WOULD LOVE TO TAKE THAT ON FOR US.
(I think I’m well-intentioned, but slightly brain damaged.)
So there was A Thing at the middle school last night, and we sandwiched a quick PTA meeting in there with a bunch of other stuff, and I stood up and waved like a dork when I was supposed to, and tried to stay awake. (Hey, I start my day at 5:30. Between Monkey having a doctor’s appointment and Chickadee coming home from school sick and work and life in general, by the time this thing wrapped at 8:00 I was toast.)
At one point during the milling-around-aimlessly portion of the evening, I found myself face to face with the new principal.
“Hi, I don’t think we’ve officially met,” I said, sticking out my hand. “I’m Mir.”
“And your child is…?”
“Chickadee? Chickadee Lastname. She’s in 8th grade.”
The principal nodded and made a good show of pretending that sounded familiar. “I feel like we’ve met before already.” I said I was pretty sure we hadn’t. “Maybe we were both involved in some emails…?”
“Oh! Yes, that’s it,” I said. “While we were trying to get placement ironed out for my 6th grader, Monkey.” (I waited for recognition to dawn; instead I got a non-committal “Maybe that was it.”) And because I am a brat, I found myself suddenly irritated, so I added, “Yeah, we weren’t able to pull that together. He’s not going to school here.”
We stood there looking at each other. What could the principal say? What was I hoping to hear? I don’t have an answer to either of those questions, and the truth is that—tragicomedy that it was—the series of events that led to our pulling Monkey out of that school is moot, now. He’s where he belongs. Being annoyed at the school isn’t going to do a damn thing, and really, had they been better-organized, he might be struggling there now instead of loving Hippie School.
Eventually (after far too long of an awkward pause) I excused myself to go hunt down another of Chickadee’s teachers, and it wasn’t until I was all the way down the hall that I realized… we’ve been emailing each other about plans for the auction. That’s why my name sounded familiar.
And now I’m both familiar AND That Crazy Lady. Awesome!
Far be it from me to let public school hog all of my mad skillz in interacting with people who are not merely my friends inside of the computer. Oh no! I have PLENTY of suave-osity (like generosity, only douchier) left over for my new pals at Hippie School, don’t worry.
Hippie School is kind of far away. And here you understand that anything that is further than, oh, say, a five minute drive is “far away” to me, because I am a delicate flower who dislikes leaving the house. Hippie School isn’t all the way in Atlanta, or anything, but it’s a healthy drive from here, and because it’s Hippie School and we all want to
drive as little as possible because we’re lazy be kind to the environment, a great amount of discussion and planning has gone into arranging carpools.
I pretty much win at carpool already, because right up front I volunteered to drive every single morning if the other parents would bring Monkey home every day. They said yes, and then I told Otto that he’d be driving every morning. (Me = evil genius!)
So it started out with three of us, and I (by which I mean “Otto”) would go pick up Mario and Luigi on the way to school in the morning, and then every afternoon either Mario’s mom or Luigi’s babysitter would bring Monkey home. Easy peasy. Mario lives near us and Luigi lives far away, but Luigi’s mom would drop him at Mario’s each morning.
But then a fourth family who lives closer to Luigi asked to carpool with them, so it went from Otto taking all three boys in the morning and one mom taking all three in the afternoon to Otto taking two boys while another mom takes the other two boys each morning and every single afternoon becoming a special, unique clusterfuck of pairs and trios and whatever else. Some afternoons Mario comes home with us! Some he goes to Luigi’s! Sometimes Luigi goes to Mario’s house! Etc. I mean, it’s all good, but we’re having an organizational problem at the moment. (My instructions to an easily-confused Monkey: “You go with whoever’s picking up Mario. I have no idea who’s coming on which day, so just follow him. Unless it’s a seedy-looking guy in a windowless van, in which case maybe suggest to Mario that he wait for a parent, instead.”)
Given that I appear to be the only person in this scenario who’s not actually driving, I thought I’d make myself useful and create a master calendar we could all access to keep track of things. Because I’m just that cool.
Two wasted hours later, I have a new Google Group, Google Site, and Google Calendar set up specifically for Hippie School carpooling information. Did we need all three of those? No. Can any of the people I invited to view these various duplicate versions of the same information actually ACCESS any of it? No, they cannot. Because I’m Google impaired. But at least I spent all that time and came up with a Usefulness Quotient of… zero.
One of the other moms just shared a Google spreadsheet with me and was all, “Can’t we just use this?” Well, sure, if you want to take the EASY way out….