Banana Slug Karma

When I was growing up, every year we would travel up to the top of the state and camp in the Redwoods, not far below Crescent City.  There were a few reasons why we loved these trips.  One was that we would always meet up with my cousins from Oregon, whom we didn't get to see much and who we always had fun with.  Another reason was that we used to tie inter tubes together and spend the days floating down the Jedidiah Smith River(great fun).  Another reason however, was that we loved to torment banana slugs.

It's twisted, but true.  These slimy, speckled, snot colored creatures were abundant in the Redwoods the way that lizards are abundant here in the desert. They were everywhere.  And I suppose that it was because their looks were so offensive to the eye that our torture of these mollusks didn't seem anything other than perfectly justified.

And torture them we did.

I remember venturing on the trails with my cousins, armed with a canister of salt, searching for our victims.  Upon finding one, we'd stand in a group, pour salt on it, and then watch as it bubbled and writhed.  This was fascinating to us- pure entertainment.  (Well, I don't know about "pure".   However, if it ever occurred to anyone that it was a mean or sadistic act, no one said anything out loud.)  In fact, I even bonded with my newly adopted cousin over the salting of a banana slug.  I remember taking him by the hand and leading him over to where I had found a slug on a log.  Wordlessly, because he didn't have much language yet, I held up salt and let him watch as I sprinkled it above the slug.  His eyes widened, the corner of his lips turned up, and I do believe that I had myself a little friend for the rest of that trip.  You may even say that it was a turning point in our relationship: Welcome to America, little man.  Here, we salt slugs. 

We were definitely a destructive force.  If any environmental scientists ever logged the banana slug population during the 1980's, it's possible that they puzzled over a drastic drop every July.  It's safe to say that by the time I reached my teens, I had accumulated a lot of bad juju when it came to banana slugs.

Which brings me to the ironic part of this post.

Do you recognize the shirt that John Travolta is wearing in this still from Pulp Fiction?

It's a University of Santa Cruz T-shirt.  Those ding dongs chose a banana slug as their mascot for some reason.  Do you know why we made Santa Cruz a stop on our vacation? (Well, other than the fact that I wanted to go to the boardwalk?)  Mr. C is a UCSC alumni.  Class of '94, I believe. 

So, that's right.  I married a banana slug. Karma circle complete, and God does have a sense of humor.  

Ba-dum-bum.  

You have a good night! 

Wait- I forgot that I was supposed to tell you about our vacation in Santa Cruz.  I'll tell you fast- it was fun!  One of my favorite sensory experiences ever is to be on a boardwalk, smelling the ocean and hearing the roller coasters above me.  Plus, a friend reminded me that the Santa Cruz Boardwalk was the setting for the movie Lost Boys.  So that pretty much doubles it's cool quotient right there.  

Okay.  Now you can have a good night. 

Gua-La-Dee-Da

The second stop on our vacation was Gualala, pronounced WAH LA LA.  Can you do me a favor? Try saying that word using your normal voice.  I couldn't.  Maybe it's just me and my husband, but we couldn't take that word seriously.  We'd end up stretching out the first syllable and over enunciating the "la's" at the end, so it'd come out like this:  "WaaaaaaaahLALA".  Then we tried saying it in different Muppet character voices.

It was hours of fun.

Not really.

Anyway, it turns out that the best part of Gualala is it's name.  There is not much going on there.  It's a very teeny tiny town on the coast.  Mr. C has some friends that lived close by so we visited with them.  That was nice.  Other than that, we just camped and hiked and did a lot of this:

Sitting around on the beach.  It was relaxing.  (And a bit boring, to be honest.)  The kids busied themselves by building a little shack out of driftwood on the beach.  

This impressed me.  I'm totally going to take them with me in case of a Zombie Apocalypse, since they apparently possess mad survival skills.  Who knew? 

But that's it.  Besides it's name, that is all I can write about GWAH LAAAA LAAAA!!!. (That was my Animal impersonation.  You know- from the Muppets? Oh, never mind.) 

Wait.  There is one more thing.    

Mr. C took this panoramic pic and then challenged me by saying that I wasn't "savvy" enough to figure out how to post it onto the blog. 

Well, well, well.  Look who's savvy now Mr. C, you big banana slug.  

(That's right.  I called him a banana slug.  I'll explain why on my next post about Santa Cruz.  Until then, have a good night.) 

P.S- For those of you less savvy than me, you should be able to interact with the photo above by dragging your mouse across it left and right to get a full 360 view.  Neat-o!  

Where Little Cable Cars Run Halfway to the Stars

 Well, hello!

How have you all been?  We just got back from our vacation late last night, and I've been looking forward all day to sitting down and writing about it. Not because it was extraordinarily exciting- I mean, it was great fun- but mostly because I'm needing a break from the laundry slave chains.  We camped for the last four nights and the laundry is horrendous.  Writing is a welcome distraction. 

(I just realized that I always use this blog to fish for pity about laundry.  How dull.  I vow to stop.)  

Anyhow.  

Our vacation.  It was fun.  It coincided with our wedding anniversary, and while Mr. C and I usually celebrate our anniversary sans kids, this year we took them along for a beach vacation that started off in San Fransisco.  We also camped in Gualala and Santa Cruz, but I'll leave that for another post.  Tonight I'll just share a few thoughts that I collected while touting out and about the hilly streets of San Fran. 

First, I was proud to realize that 9 years of marriage means that I am now able to read Mr. C's thoughts.  This realization came to me in the car when, after almost plowing through a full cannister of salted peanuts, I proclaimed to him, "Please stop me from eating any more of these!" and just from looking at him, I could see on his face that he was employing his imagination in all the ways that he could physically stop me from eating the rest of the peanuts.  Before I could stop him, he had reached over with a sly smile and pinched my nostrils together.  Try laughing with a mouthful of peanuts and a blocked airway.  It's painful.  

Second, I read Tina Fey's Bossypants over vacation and now I have this ongoing scenario in my head where we're best friends.  I have imaginary conversations with her about all kinds of things (No surprise that she's deeply sympathetic to my laundry situation.) 

In case you're worried about me, don't.  I do this with all the authors I like.  Anne Lamott and Mark Twain are in my circle of friends too.  Someday I'll throw a dinner party. 

Third, we had a delicious anniversary dinner with the kids in tow at The Stinky Rose, which is a garlic restaurant.  I was excited to go there because I had imagined this wonderful, warm family dinner in which we all sit calmly and bask in the love that these nine years have accumulated.  Alas, in this scenario, I had forgotten that J and Roo aren't quite at the age where they are easy and enjoyable in a restaurant.  They still require lots of reminders and distractions.  Here's an unattractive photo that Mr. C took of me at dinner- finger wagging around, mouth open mid-sentence, and I'm probably nagging someone about being careful not to spill their water glass.  

The look on Roo's face says it all: "This woman doesn't stop."

That's okay.  I had fun with them anyways, even if they probably will forever remember me this way:        

                         

Finally, Mr. C and I had both lived up in Sonoma County (before we even knew each other), so we had spent a considerable amount of time in San Francisco. We had the same thoughts about Northern California: it's a beautiful place, but we didn't like living there.  Mr. C blames it on what he calls the "hippie residue".  I just blame it on my aversion to vegetarians with too much hunter green and brown in their wardrobe.  Either way, this time in San Francisco, we really enjoyed the city.  We did all the touristy things, which strangely, we never did when we lived around there.  We took a boat out into the bay, we went to the Exploratorium, Golden Gate Park, and the Palace of Fine Arts.  We walked through China Town and around North Beach.  The kids were great, we were great, everything was great.  Mr. C took some amazing pictures- like, AMAZING pictures.  Even better than usual.  So, I'll leave you tonight with an ultimate "mom" souvenir.  Some moms scrapbook, some moms keep journals, I myself enjoy a good picture slideshow set to some cheesy music.  

And that is what I have for you here tonight.  Enjoy!

Nor Cal 2014-Medium 2 from Tacy Cauthron on Vimeo.

Why My Calling Should Be Writing Copy At Sterling-Cooper

Hi! Before we start, I have to take a moment to give three cheers for me. If I don't, my accomplishments of today will go unnoticed by the world at large (happens often with this occupation.) Anyway, 3 cheers because domestically speaking, today I kicked butt.

 I managed to, over the course of the last 7 hours:

Do multiple loads of laundry
clean the kitchen
deep clean the stove
clean 2 bathrooms
sweep and mop the tile
paint my kitchen cabinets (yes, I'm still doing that. More about that nightmare in another post)
prepare a delicious dinner for my family which included not one, but two versions of Sloppy Joes- spicy for us grown ups and non-spicy for the littles
AND 

as I type this, I have this yummy dessert in the oven from the Pioneer Woman.
That list up there is the Donald Draper equivalent of landing a big account at the office while knocking Peter Campbell down a few steps on the business ladder, nailing a girl or two in the city, and then heading home to cohost a dinner party with his wife in the suburbs.

Actually, it's more than what Donald Draper could've done, because he has his secretary and wife to do half that work for him.

(If you're totally confused right now, Mr. C and I have been watching Mad Men on Netflix all summer. I'm a bit obsessed.  You'll probably hear more from me about Mad Men before the summer is over.  It's taken over my mind.)

Anyway, that list above actually makes me cringe because it's a bit too domestic for my taste.  However, I was motivated by a Facebook friend of mine who wrote something similar on the newsfeed.  I responded with a joke about how she was making the rest of us look bad, and then I felt like a jerk because I realized I sounded like those lame people who chastise celebratory statuses because of their own insecurities.  I hate those people.  So, it's possible all my housewifery was done out of guilt.  Either way, my family got a chocolate cake out of the deal, so it's all good.

Has anyone else noticed that lately my introductions are often more than half of my post?  Geez.

Here's what I was going to share tonight:  My parents recently gave me a huge box filled with my childhood mementos, pictures, report cards, art projects, and best of all, stories that I had written.  It was so much fun going through that box.  I laughed, and sometimes I even cried.  There were so many memories of being a kid in there- little things, that I had forgotten about.

For example, here's a thank you note I wrote to my mom one Christmas after receiving a calligraphy set.

"Thank you for spending about $250."  How incredibly.....heartwarming?  Also, how rad is the Garfield stationary?

Here's the corresponding note that I wrote to my dad:

I love the banana chicken sketch on the bottom.

In the box was also an old yellowed piece of paper titled "The Herrington Herald".  It was my version of our family newspaper.  As far as I remember, there was only that one edition.  I'll just tell you a few of my favorite lines.  From the editior's note: "If you would like to place an ad in the newspaper, it will cost a penny.  If you would like to put in your own column, it costs five cents, but the Herald later on pays you."

I wonder why no one ever took me up on that bargain?

Besides a very upbeat column describing a birthday party my sisters and I threw for our Cabbage Patch kids, there is also an update on the window seat my dad was building for me in my room.  I think though, that the Lost and Found section is my favorite:  "Lost: Curling Iron, High Energy, Conair.  Last seen in Diana Herrington's hair." Diana is my mom and one of the 2 receipients of the Herald.  Apparently, subtlety is a trait I have always lacked.

And finally, I enjoy the complaint section, handwritten in as an afterthought, which reads "COMPLAINT: Sara Herrington is leaving dishes in the sink until dinner so Tacy will clean them up."
It's too bad I didn't go into the newspaper business.  At age 11, I was already adept at manipulating print media to push my own agenda.

I do regret to inform you that the very best, most embarrassing, most tears-of-laughter-inducing piece in the whole entire box has unfortunately been lost.  It was a persuasive letter I wrote to my parents when I was in the sixth grade to convince them to let them go to my first boy-girl party.  It was the crowning jewel of the whole box, and I can't believe I lost it.  I'm still hoping it turns up, and if it ever does, I"ll publish it.  For now though, I'll share that one of my arguments in the letter was that my friend was Armenian, and "how much more religious can you get?"

(My apologies for my 11 year old ignorance about Armenians, their religion, and how the morals of all that would play out at a sixth grade boy- girl party.)

(I'll also skip any Kardashian references at this time.)

Anyway, I just wanted to share all that with you.  You know what?  If you've got kids, won't you keep all those funny little pieces of their personality for them? I can not tell you how grateful I am to my parents for saving this stuff.  I felt like I had found someone I didn't know I had lost.  Up to going through the box contents, I had been remembering myself as a child being this quiet and shy bookworm.  However, in reading through everything, the kid "me" came through loud and clear.  I was actually pretty creative and a little bit funny.

I was also totally weird, but that part I remember like it was yesterday.

Oh wait!  It was.

Is.

I'll forever be weird.

You have a good night!

Sane & Insane

     Someone on Facebook tagged me in that meme last week.  At first I didn't know how to feel, because I thought that so far I had been doing a halfway decent job of keeping the whole "insane" thing on the down low.  I panicked a little at the thought of my secret being out.  So when I saw that I was tagged along with a group of moms and that no one had actually seen that and thought of me and only me,  I felt much better.  I laughed because it's funny.  Also though, I laughed because it's just so freakin' true.  I can't tell you how many times I've done something as a parent because I thought it was the right thing, the sane thing to do, yet I ended up with an insane result.  For example:

     Sane behavior- Teaching my children to put their own shoes on at an early age to promote their own autonomy and streamline leaving the house.

     Insane Result: Standing in the doorway and pleading"Did you get your shoes?  Okay.  Put them on.  No, no, you don't need a jacket.  It's 110 degrees outside.  Put the jacket down and just put on your shoes.  Please.  PUT THE BACKPACK DOWN!  WE'RE NOT GOING TO SCHOOL.  IT'S SUMMER, REMEMBER?  Please!!!!  Your shoes, your shoes!  Put them on!"

     (I confess that I would be to blame in this scenario because I repeatedly make the mistake of expecting my children to do something in my time just because I asked them to.  Their programming strongly resists such requests.  I believe that's how bribing was invented.  Somewhere back in the Paleolithic Age there was a cave mama holding out a nice juicy Teradactyl Wing and gesturing to her cave baby that he could have it, if only he'd put on his Saber Tooth Fur before going out.

     By the way, I may be exposing my ignorance on the Paleolithic era by implying that Teradactyls or cave people existed together in time.  Really though, does it matter?  If my skimming over historical facts offends anyone, please feel free to correct me in the comments.  Otherwise, lets move on.)

     Sane behavior- Teaching my children to buckle their own seatbelts, thus promoting safety awareness and once again, streamlining trips out of the home and around town.

     Insane result: Children get in the van and then for whatever reason, sit or stand around like they don't know what's going to happen next.  Does this ever happen to you?  In my case, I turn around in my driver's seat and say ""Guys?  This is the part where mommy turns on the engine and we back out of the driveway.  Put on your seat belts."  Some days I can say this with a lot of patience.  Other days I say it in a tone that suggests I've been possessed by Satan.  Either way, I can always count on a loud protest coming from somewhere in the backseat if I let the van roll an inch before all seat belts are buckled.  Seems that when this happens, one of my children become quickly convinced that they are going to die and that I am trying to kill them because we're (what a surprise) moving(!) and their seat belts aren't buckled yet.(!!!!)

     And finally:

    Sane behavior:  Having the kids carry their folded laundry to their rooms where they sort it and put everything away in drawers.  Yes, this teaches responsibility, but more importantly, it gives me some help with the dreaded, hateful, daunting task of laundry for a family of six.

     Insane result: Laying awake on the couch at 4:30 in the morning and imagining conversations that my children might have with their future therapists about me.  The therapist would say "So, tell me about your mother." And they would reply, "Well, she was okay.  She had this weird hangup about the laundry.  She'd get so mad at us about it.  She was really kind of nuts."

     I guess you need the backstory for that one.

     It had been a long night in which 2 children had wet the bed.  Actually, to be precise, they wet my bed.  Mr. C has been gone for the last few days, and when that happens, I usually let them sleep with me.  (By the way, you really don't need an explanation for this, but I have an irrational urge to give it to you anyway.  Bedwetting is not usually the norm around here, but I had let them fall asleep while watching a movie, so they didn't use the bathroom before bed.  They were overtired anyway and sleeping extra deeply, so I guess once again I'm the crazy one for not seeing this coming.)

     Anyway, at 1 in the morning when I was helping J get fresh pj's and underwear on, I saw him turn around and throw the clean pair of underwear into the dirty clothes because he doesn't "like the way underwear feels at night".  Now, anytime anyone around here throws something clean into the laundry hamper, I take it as a personal act of aggression towards me.  So imagine my frustration when, 3 hours later, I was blindly going through Roo's drawers trying to find her clean pajamas and underwear and I found instead, little toys balled up inside wads of clothing that had been shoved into her drawers.  Not surprising given that she's 3, but still frustrating because I had originally put the clothes away with her, and I know they didn't go in like that.

     I stalked out to the living room to lay awake on the couch in the predawn hours, in exile of my pee-soaked bed, with the washer and dryer humming out their rythym in the next room and me fuming about the unfairness of it all.  Was I crazy to even try to teach them to do this stuff on their own?  Should I just start doing it all myself and save myself the frustration?  Save myself the sanity? Save my children the future therapy bills?

     I don't know the answer to any of this.  I just know that on the day the asylum people come to take me away, it'll be bittersweet.  Yeah, I'll be getting committed, which is a bummer.  But on the upside, I'll be getting out of laundry duty.

     Sweet relief.  Where do I sign?  

* Disclaimer- I notice I've become really fond of these disclaimers.  It's because while I'm writing, I think about all the ways people can interpret this post.  This give me a nice little space to address some of that. That said, I just want you all to know that while I often write about the stuff that I don't like about parenting, it doesn't mean that I don't like my kids.  Sometimes people get that mixed up.  So to be clear: I enjoy my kids. I love them. I like hanging out with them.  I like learning from them.  But I also like to give forum to the not so shiny side of parenting.  I think it's important to talk about that part of it too.  Okay?  It keeps me sane.  
Ish. 
It keeps me sane-ish.    

Dads Through A Lens

One of my favorite parts of being a mom is watching Mr. C be a dad.  Actually, I kinda love looking at all fathers in the act of adoring their children.  I don't know why.  I guess it's because a lot of times they wear these expressions that you just know they didn't own before they had kids- like wonder and amazement and head-shaking awe.  I love that look.  I'll never get enough of it.

So, while around here Mr. C is usually the man behind the camera taking pictures of all the wonderful craziness or crazy wonderfulness, tonight I'm posting a few of the pics that I've taken over the years that    reflect something of what I'm talking about....

with 9

with PG

with J

and with Roo.

I think it's pretty evident that the kids are in just as much wonder and awe of him as he is of they.

One more thing, Happy Father's Day to my dad.

Who's the dumb little kid who didn't realize that pictures were being taken until the fourth flash?  Hope she turned out okay.  Geez.




















Have a good night everyone!

Beware The Crappy School Parking Lot

Hi guys!  I'm going to try to make this fast, as Mr. C and I are trying to get through the Hatfield & McCoys mini-series that we DVR'd last weekend.  I'm enjoying it, but I have to confess that I was hoping to gain some insight as to what the two families were really fighting about, since my whole life I've only seen them depicted as a bunch of hillbillies who get to killin' each other over durn near nuthin'.  Turns out that really just about sums it up, which is a little disappointing. However, working in my mom's therapy office for a few months did teach me that anger makes people certifiable, so I guess I'm not surprised.  Therapy probably would've done wonders for the two clans.

 But since it's a little too late for that, I suppose I should move on to what I sat down to write about.

Tomorrow is the last day of school.  All you parents and teachers reading can give yourself a pat on the back and do a happy dance.  You've done it!  Hooray!  My own happy dance will be especially joyful, not because I am looking forward to not having to fight with the girls about their hair every morning (although I am). Nor is it because I won't have to pack lunches at 6 a.m. for a while (although I won't).  It's because I will have 9 glorious weeks in which I won't have to step foot (or tire) inside the insanity that is the school parking lot.

Before I go further, I need to change topics for a sec and ask you all if you've heard of Amber Dusick and her blog, Crappy Pictures?  If you haven't ever read her before, make sure you click over and check her out.  Every single post is spot on hilarious.  And one of the absolute best things about her blog is that often, after reading, my brain switches gears and I begin to go about my day picturing my life in terms of crappy pictures.  That's where this post comes in.  Every time I have to endure the parking lot at my children's school, I imagine it in crappy pictures.   So, with tomorrow being the last day of school and all,  I thought I'd go the "imitation is the sincerest form of flattery" route and pay homage to both the Crappy Pictures Blog and my nemesis, the school parking lot.

By the way, this is a one time deal.  First because it's overtly ripping off someone else's blog, but with giving them credit for the idea and all.  Second because this is work, man.  Props to Mrs. Dusick.  She is talented.

Okay.  I know you don't get much from looking at this first picture here.   It's very busy.  Basically, you need to know two things: first, that red line there is the long, long journey that I travel every day in my quest to get my child to Kindergarten.  If you don't think it looks that bad, keep reading.
Second, that scrabbling up at the top is supposed to be my legend (it's hard to write with a mouse).  It's just there for a little perspective.  Every millimenter or so is equal to 50 child sized steps, but please realize that you'll need to double that if you're also towing a toddler/baby.

I'm not famous for my precise estimation skills, but I'm pretty sure the map legend is not that much of an exaggeration.

Also, please note that there's a little roundabout in front of the Kindergarten building.  Against all logic, we parents are not allowed to use that for dropping off our kids.  Supposedly, it's for buses only. Nevermind that this is a neighborhood school and no one gets bussed in or out.  While it seems to me that the logical thing would be to drop the Kindergarten students off at the curb just mere feet from the door, we are forced to utilize what I've come to refer to as "the Devil's Lot".

The Devil's Lot takes up half a city block and is shared with the middle school next door.  That means that not only are 800 elementary school parents using that lot, often times there are an additional 500 middle school parents using it as well.

Notice also that there is one way in and one way out. (Insert a sound bite of Vincent Price's mad laughter)

When you first enter the Devil's Lot, common sense would ask you to drive directly into the lot and find a space.  Alas, the powers that be have made that impossible by the placement of cones (as crappily illustrated above).   You are forced to drive the entire quarter of a mile around the loop, which wouldn't be so terrible if the loop didn't have these impossible speed bumps.  These aren't the nice, smooth, rounded out speed bumps that you usually see.  No, these are the mean kind- with angles and big nasty bolts.  You almost need all-terrain wheels to get up and over them.

I have named them for entertainment purposes.  Here's me looking through the windshield at the upcoming "Coffee Tosser":

And here's the second one, after I go over it.  You can see it in my rear view mirror.  I call it "The Boob Slammer."

The name speaks for itself. 

After your encounter with the ridiculous speed bumps, you come to my least favorite part of the whole parking lot.  It's the "Intersection of Indecisiveness".   Here, you either have to make the decision to move forward and try to find a spot along the curb to drop your child, or to veer left and go into the parking lot.  Finding a spot at the curb is a crapshoot, and if you fail, you have to exit the parking lot and drive around the whole city block and reenter to start the whole process again. The pressure is intense.  I've seen people crack.  It's ugly. 

Luckily, if I'm just dropping off J I usually just veer into the parking lot, since we're mandated to walk our children into the K yard.

Now though you'd think we'd be done, really the journey is just beginning.  After the stress of the parking lot, finding a space, and unloading all the kids..... you hike.

You hike them across the parking lot.  You hike them over the crosswalk.  (Here, it'd make sense to go into the side gate to enter the Kinder Yard, but again- no.  The side gate is for the morning Kinder students to exit by.  Afternoon Kinders like us must enter through the front.) 

I'm just glad that I don't have a baby to carry through the parking lot, as some mom's do.  Afternoon drop off and pick up are during peak nap hours.  Nightmare.

Anyway, we walk some more. 

All the way around the Kinder yard, up the middle, and through the front gate.

By the time we get there, a choir of angels is singing Hallelujah in my head.

We have arrived.  The mom's with babies are now crawling on all fours, their babes on their backs.  They are crying.  The journey has taken much out of them.  Though I would love to help them, to find a way to ease their burden, I must save my own strength for the journey back.  Sympathetic eye contact is all I can offer.  A silent exchange that communicates the fact that we are warriors, these mothers and I.  We have made this journey together, and now that our children are promoting to First Grade, our burden will be eased.  Yes, we may have to battle the evil speed bumps and heavy traffic at dismissal time, but no longer will we have to walk our wards miles and miles to the Garden of Kinder Learning.  You are brave, young mothers, and I am nothing if not honored-

I am such a dork.

Nothing like that happens.  When we finally get to the gate, J gets his hug and kiss goodbye and then Roo and I are on our way back.  No big deal.

Except for last week.  I have to vent about this one thing to you.  There's an office lady who I've had run ins with before.  Last summer when I had to register J she made me feel like a slacker because I was registering him late, and when I tried to explain that it was because their office had closed for 6 weeks, she chastised me by saying "Yes, well.  This is a school.  School's usually do close for the summer."

So that was the first time I wanted to sock her.

The second time was last week when I walked up to the gate with J and found her locking it.  The kids were still playing on the playground, the teacher hadn't called them to line up yet, there were numerous parents inside the gate watching their children play, and even more parents still hiking their kids out of the parking lot in 110 degree heat.  I said "You're locking it?  Why?"
And she said "Yes.  It's 11:45.  I go by my watch."

To which I should have replied "Oh, well.  Maybe you should try going by common sense instead."

But of course I didn't say that.  I'd like to say it's because I'm too nice, but really it's because I didn't think of it until about 15 minutes later when I was back in my car fuming.

On the bright side, I now have a better understanding of the kind of stupidity that the Hatfield& McCoys were dealing with.

Happy last day of school!  Have a good one!


***Disclaimer- I should make it clear that despite my hatred of the parking lot, I love my children's school.  I love the teachers there, I love the principal, and I love the hard working aides who don the fluorescent vests everyday and put their lives at risk to keep the parking lot as safe as possible.  I appreciate them.  My despise is solely for the lot itself and all the cars inside it. And the fact that we can't use the roundabout.  But whatever.