She's a Missile

Back to school. The folks in charge have apparently forgotten that school isn't supposed to start until September. They have to build in some extra days so they can cancel school on account of 1/4" of snow.

Mo actually craves the structure of school so much, even with summer school, she gets a bit out of whack by this time of year. She could really do with a year-round deal.

The artist formerly known as Frau Lobster has a new gig and since the first day of school is a half day, I got first dibs on honyock time.

Em was not only entering a new school, she was doing so without knowing who her teacher was. There was an ice cream social last week for briefing us on that, but she was out of town on a cousin sleepover binder, so she missed it. I agreed to walk her in, which got an extra night of Daddy & Emmy time.

This is a kid who normally sleeps until noon when left to her own devices. I'm used to making three or four attempts to get her moving by 8:00. She poked me on the arm (scaring hell out of me) at 6:00. The other half of my family, for the record, was up at 3:00, Mo was way excited to get back into the routine.

Em didn't want me to take her picture on the way in.



We live about ten minutes from the former missile silo Em attends. Nike Intermediate is done saying 'boo' to the U.S.S.R., now it's part of a school district that's growing so fast they've just about broken it down to a building for each grade. We have a ton of brand new future children's museums and marginal churches.

The deal was, I would pick Em up from the missile silo at 11:00, then get Mo from the elementary at 11:30.

After waiting in line, snaking through the lot as they directed the massive column of parents, no Em.

She'd forgotten the deal and got on the bus. The bus that drops her off at the apartment her Mom wouldn't be at for hours.

Meanwhile, I had to get Mo, and then drive like hell for the apartment complex in hopes of catching the bus.

You ever see those railroad vehicles with rubber tires and train wheels? They can run on the street with the train wheels up, or they can prop up on the train wheels and the rubber tires propel it back and forth on the rails? Ever wonder how the make the transition?

Me either. But I got to see the process of getting on the tracks. It involves shutting down the crossing with a couple of flag men, while the truck backs and forwards to the gesture cues of another railroad worker until it lines up.

It takes like ten minutes, and I'm like, Uh, I'm in a hurry?

Through a series of semi-implausible events, I found Em and we went on about our day.

It included some TV time for Mo. Who isn't happy with the current lineup of videos I have from the library.



It also included getting a cell phone. I hate cell phones. A lot.

But I can't have my kids wander all over hell's half acre when I could be in touch.

I bought the cheapest prepaid phone, and I don't aim to buy minutes more often than they expire. About once a month something happens where I wish I had one, and I don't think I'll use it more than that.

I compared the cell with my wind-up lobster, and for price, usefulness and durability, the lobster wins across the board.



Em's new teacher spotted my camera, though, and asked me about it. I explained that after the first day of Theater Camp, Em was traumatized and I was not allowed to snap her picture at her desk.

'My Mom took my picture this morning,' the teacher told me. It's the teacher's first day, too, right? It's not that weird, it's her first day of official 'teaching,' she was a student teacher last year.

Fortunately, I had extracted a pic from Em before we left the house.