The Wake-Up Call

Samantha called the other day to see how I was doing. “I’m fine,” I answered in standard format.

“No, how are you really doing?” she pushed. She was referring to the fact that my kids have transferred from a private school with a reasonable morning start and no homework policy to a public school with an early morning bus stop, packets of homework and a half-day schedule for kindergartners.

“Oh, that. I’m on the edge of a nervous breakdown.”

What can I say? Transitions are never easy for the family, except for a month-long stay at an all-inclusive Tahitian resort. This back-to-school experience has been particularly hard on me and reinforced my favorite line from Gone with The Wind, “Why Miss Scarlet, I don’t know nothing about birthin’ babies.”

This summer, my kids and I got along famously. When we went on our family vacation, I returned rested and not in need of a ‘real vacation.’ For the first time since those pink double lines entered my life, I started to feel that I had a handle on this whole mom thing.

At the park one hot summer day, Samantha even commented on how relaxed I seemed.

“You’re different,” she noted.

“I’m feeling pretty good.”

She stared at me. “Are you on medication or are you for real?”

I laughed, thinking that if I added medication to the equation, I might feel like not only a confident mom, but also a sane human being. That was before I had to set my alarm to six a.m., shorten my workday to four hours and decipher my second grader’s homework.

The first week of school, my oldest came home with math worksheets in her homework packet. Being the daughter of a mathematician and a math lover in school, I sat down excitedly to review the instructions of a large blank grid. ‘Color the doubles yellow. Color the doubles-plus-one green.’ I stared at it. What were doubles-plus-one?

“Go ask Daddy,” I told my daughter, but he didn’t know either. Between our fourteen years of higher education, we could not follow second grade math instructions. I thought about calling my dad, but was afraid it might be like the time I called him from China.

“Happy Easter, Dad.”

There was a long pause as he wondered why after years of Algebra and differential equations I was incapable of calculating a simple time difference in the world clock. “It’s the middle of the night,” he finally answered.

After looking over my daughter’s math grid again, I realized that doubles-plus-one was another way of calculating an odd number. A strange method, I think, but I guess I’m ‘old school’ and obviously more stupid than I realized.

However, I see a light at the end of the tunnel. This shortened workday and piles of paperwork have forced me to become more organized than ever. I now have from 7:30 until 11:30 to get all of my work done, calls made and laundry in the washer. The afternoons belong to my kids and the re-education of Mom. I am not only learning my math again, but also the importance of parental flexibility. Because once you think you have this mom thing under control, watch out. That early morning alarm is about to sound.