I'm attached to my kids at the hip--at least when that's the pocket where I've put the cellphone.
Apparently the school was trying to reach me all morning because K. was crying that his mouth hurt. Probably canker sores. When I finally talked to the principal at lunchtime, she said they'd run out of ice packs and Popsicles. So there went the entire morning (the only time he has an E. A.) of educational possibilities out the window.
Friday he didn't get anything done in the morning because he was too tired, so we put him back on Melatonin (herbal sleep remedy). All last week he had regular blowups before lunch, but I'm grateful that the staff diffused the situation and just informed me about it when I picked him up. On Thursday they would have called me, but they thought I was teaching in another city, so I enjoyed my day off in blissful ignorance of the ten-year-old tornado one block away.
Unlike many other mothers I talk to, I don't often have to go in to fix things. But the school does want me to be waiting on the other end of the line. Poised at any moment to give the teacher ideas, comfort K., adjust the meds, confer with the psychiatrist, or take K. home if necessary. The beginning of the school year was the hardest: I had daily phone calls telling me what a hard time he was having.
Today I let them down: I forgot that my cell was still on vibrate (from the graduation ceremony I was involved in on Sunday) when I went for my physical and the groceries, and I forgot to take my cordless outside when I was snipping and bundling apple tree branches. (In my defense, I did check my answering machine regularly.)
I feel like a C.E.O. tied to my phone, except these aren't my employees, they're my children. I thought once I sent them to school full time I would be free to make my own plans.
And I can, as long as I keep the ringer on.
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