My kids just started school, and the amount of tree-felling paperwork is unbelievable. I joined the PTSA so I think I will protest that this is not "green," but I'm sure if it's online only no one reads it in a timely fashion, resulting in missed snacks and unfinished homework assignments. And panic attacks!
The scariest pack of paper I received was the American Greetings fundraiser pack. According to this, I should solicit gift orders from everyone up 'n' down the the block for wrapping paper and other sundries. This would be essential to the life of the school! I was sweating beads over it when my husband arrived and pulled it from my clenched fingers.
"This is for mothers who do not work," he said, and placed it firmly into the recycling bin. I felt much better.
The K homework has begun. Admittedly, it does not involve calculus. But it's one more thing to worry about every evening. "Have you filled out your yellow circle sheet?" I asked older son, who jumped to the task because he's the kind of kid who will always do his homework right-on-time. I check the folder every day. I also have to prepare a nutritious snack every morning and make sure it's in that blasted backpack.
Volunteerism for my middle son's PreK is mandatory, because it's a parent coop. It's pretty cool. Everyone is earthy crunchy and wears Birks or Keens, and when you serve the fruit for snack you have to wear disposable gloves. Plus, no peanuts! No sunflower seeds! No crackers made in a peanut factory! No nothing that has been ever in contact with a nut in its entire lifetime! No meats! No carrot sticks! No chokey-chokey foods! It's all good, dude, but when I cut the apples at home I DID NOT WEAR GLOVES. I hope the kids will be OK. My fingers are dripping with liquid LSD. Gragagh!
My volunteer spirit broke today when, as a Special Events Committee Member for the Larchmont Newcomers Club, I realized I did not have the wherewithal to organize the Manicures and Martinis events I had concocted in my own brain. Why? Well, when I entered a couple of nail establishments and mentioned the idea, the women looked at me like I was a lunatic. I think the language barrier did not help. I begged off. I am under so much stress right now that I am physically vibrating. Organizing an event with martinis is difficult to do when you need 8 martinis just to survive at night. And 8,000 cigarettes.
Grhrhrhrhrhrh. Postpartum depression ain't pretty. What everyone needs in this instance is a husband who will say very sweetly and gently: "That's not for you right now, honey." And place the offending item--whatever it may be--in the recycling bin.