Thursday, August 28, 2014

Back to school doesn't always mean back to school

It's only the second week of school.

Monday, my third-grader had a panic attack and stayed home from school. And I was sick. 

Tuesday, my first- and third-graders didn't have school because it was parent-led conferences day. And I was sick. 

Wednesday I had appointments and commitments from 9 a.m. to 6:30 p.m., which I kept. And I was sick. 

Today, I woke up still sick and thought I'd get to sleep and get better because all three kids were supposed to be in school. While I'm dropping my elementary kids off at their school at 8:30, I get an automated call from my oldest child's middle school. There was a power outage at the school and all classes were canceled for the day. Kids will be released at 9 a.m. I head over to his school to find all access points backed up with traffic and police cars blocking the bus lanes with lights flashing. When I finally find a parking spot, I am as far away from where I'm supposed to get my child as I can be. So I walk to an open door and ask if I can walk through the school to get to the cafeteria (because did I forget to mention it's raining out?). The teachers tell me the entire school is pitch black (gotta love 1960s construction that decided windows were a bad thing), but one of the teachers said she'd walk me through with the flashlight on her cell phone. So we trek through pitch black hallways, go up and down stairs, hit one hallway with flashing strobe lights (did I mention I woke up with a killer headache on top of my cold?), and finally get to the cafeteria. Where all pandemonium had broken loose earlier because a bat got into the school through the kitchen vents, and found its way into the cafeteria, where it terrorized the children, who in turn screamed bloody murder and terrorized the poor bat. I couldn't find my child in all the chaos but found a teacher standing in the middle of the lunchroom calling out names on a bullhorn. She bellows out his name, he pops up from his seat, we get through the line to sign him out, and the same teacher who walked me in says she'll walk us through the school again to get back out. As we walk back through the strobe lights, the flights of stairs and the pitch black corridors, my sixth-grader is regaling us with the story of his morning adventure, totally jazzed about the best day of school absolutely ever. I wonder what tomorrow will be like?

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