9-9-01l, Side Streets, Kimra Traynor Herb, 987 words
Kimra and the Field Trip
By Kimra Traynor Herb
IPS Features
This is the kind of thing my kids do to me: I am in my pajamas, it is 7:55 a.m., and I considering which monumental task to tackle first- the lawn, or the house- when the phone rings.
"Hello."
I say.
"Hi, uh, Mom?" It is my oldest son.
"Yes?"
I had just put him on the bus fifteen minutes ago! Why was he calling?
“Ummmm, Mom, I
need you to come over here and sign something."
"Sign
something? What do you need signed?" I am already panicking. My sleepwear
this morning, which of course I am still wearing, consists of a long bright
yellow t-shirt (no bra) and a pair of EXCEEDINGLY ratty green and black plaid
flannel pants.
"Yeah, Mom,
we are going on a field trip today and you never signed my permission
slip."
That's
because," I growled, my patience slipping, "YOU NEVER GAVE IT TO ME! I
DIDN'T KNOW YOU WERE GOING ON A FIELD TRIP!"
"Well, umm,
Mom?" He asked.
“Yes?"
"I need you
to come down and sign it right now."
"You have
GOT to be kidding me!" I snapped. "RIGHT NOW? How long do I have to
get there?"
“ I hear the
phone clunk to the table and he says, "Mrs. Rizzo, my mom wants to know how
long she has to get here?" I also hear Mrs. Rizzo in the background,
saying, "She needs to be here right NOW!"
"Mom? You
need to be here right now." He says into the phone, not the least bit
apologetic. After all, I am his MOM, so, I guess that means he should feel free
to call me at the last moment and expect me to be there RIGHT NOW.
"Oh, and
Mom?"
"What?"
I hiss, looking for some shoes to slip on my feet quickly.
"I need
some money. We are going to stop at the mall on the way home."
Oh rats and
double rats. Do I even have money? It is doubtful, as I am not a cash-carrying
mama, but I look in my purse and find, lo and behold- a twenty dollar bill. I
feel like giving the twenty a big fat kiss goodbye because that is what I am
doing by giving it to my oldest son, who eats unbelievably large amounts, and
especially loves MALL FOOD.
Running out the
door in my slippers, and the aforementioned outfit, I get to the school and walk
into the bandroom where my son has instructed me to meet him. I notice the
security cameras scanning me; so imagine this; my image, larger than
life is now in the office for all to view. Lovely.
"Now that
Mrs. Herb is here," the band director says, peevishly in my direction
(what? This is MY fault?) "We can start loading the buses."
I scribble my
name on the form, hand over my last twenty and say goodbye to my son who has not
even looked at me because obviously, it is quite embarrassing to him to have me
appearing in all my living morning splendor at school.
That was at the
end of last year. Now, this week, I am busily running around completing many,
many missions, when my cell phone rings.
"Uh
Mom?" Oh, who else? It is my oldest again, the chief forgetter of
everything in the world, and boy voted most likely (by his father and I) to lose
his head if it weren't attached. (I know, not very original, but in his case, I
think, appropriate).
"Yes?"
I asked, dreading whatever it was he was going to tell me. I was a good fifteen
minutes from home, and heading in the opposite direction, and if my guess was
right, I would be turning around and heading towards the old family homestead to
retrieve SOMETHING, or I would be heading in to the high school to sign a very
important paper that I had "neglected" to sign previously.
"We were
supposed to wear our band polo shirts to school today." He said, waiting.
For what? For me to say, "oh silly me, why I should have known that! I
should have asked the band director if you were going to wear them on football
game days!" I was silent, waiting for the inevitable.
"Can you
bring me my band shirt to the band room?" He asked.
I sighed.
"How soon do you need it?"
"Right now
would be good." He replied.
"I am on
the other side of town, and I have to go back by the house, pick it up, and then
drive to the high school." I told him. "I should be able to have it
there in a half an hour, will that work?"
"Thanks
Mom." He said, clunking down the phone.
Of course I took
it over. I am a sucker for my kids, and they know it well. Sage friends advise
me that if I let him dangle a few times; did not take him his: geometry book,
band shirt, permission slip (fill in the blank here with any imaginable item a
child could forget) that he would soon wise up and begin behaving more
responsibly
I don't go into
it, but I have tried that route also, and it backfired on me when he DID
remember to bring home the note which said, "Mrs. Herb: please make sure
that your child comes to school prepared. He was unable to participate in our
math quiz bowl today, as he did not have his calculator. Perhaps you could check
to see if he is prepared for the day, thank you."
So I just wait,
with my cell phone always on, and the volume turned up, for the inevitable phone
calls from my children. And most likely, at least one day a week, that phone
will ring. Because that is the kind of thing my kids do to me.