I do not know where the days go…

Trying to think back over my week and how I filled all those hours while the boys were at school–I don’t know what I was doing–Tuesday may as well be a lost day! Today, for instance, I’d just gotten home from walking the dog when a friend called and asked me to watch her one-year-old for a couple hours. Well, let me tell you that I got not one thing done while he was here. Scratch that–I did get some vaccuuming done, because I turned on the Roomba. After that, the toddler was a piece of cake too, because all he wanted to do was follow it around as it bumped into furniture and transitioned from carpet to linoleum. The TV remotes were a big hit too.

So then I worked out, inhaled a quick lunch, and then headed up to the boys school to volunteer a little. I am an organized and efficient person, and I always imagine each task I undertake (suddenly I’m feeling very Mary Poppins…) will be performed in exactly that manner. Egad, but that school is like a black hole where time is concerned. I must have stood waiting to use the copier (to make 75 copies) for fifteen minutes. And being merely a volunteer, I am lowest on the totem pole–if any teacher comes in for a ‘quick 25’, I’m courtesy bound to let her proceed me in the queue. But they just keep coming!! I honestly felt like locking the door to the copy room. I imagine that sort of thing is frowned upon.

Then, on my walk down the halls, I admired the artwork and noticed the signs hyping a school-sponsored Skate Night. Since it is to be held during Red Ribbon Week (Say No to Drugs Week), the slogan is ‘Skate No to Drugs’. Slightly hokey, but perfectly fine. So one sign I pass says, ‘Skate No to Drung’ and another suggests, ‘Skate No to Durg’. Who, I’m wondering, is in charge of making these signs–they are clearly done by kids, but isn’t there any oversight?? It always bothers me a little when notes come home from my kids’ teachers with misspellings, mis-used contractions, poor punctuation, and a lack of accurate capitalization. Shouldn’t I be worried about this?? These are, after all, the people that are teaching my children the rules of punctuation, capitalization, etc. But that’s a topic for another time.

Then I came home, kids in tow, exhausted, and tried to regroup. Looking back at my day, I really didn’t accomplish much of anything in all those hours of being a stay-at-home mom. Hmmm. Still, my time was (mostly) my own, and there’s definitely something to be said about that.

Tonight we’re watching a Disney Classic: The Moonspinners with Hayley Mills, based on the book by the incomparable Mary Stewart. We are slowly working our way through my favorite childhood movies, including Swiss Family Robinson, That Darn Cat, and The Apple-Dumpling Gang. Should be a lovely evening of time-wasting.

Posted in Uncategorized on 10/16/2009 10:04 pm


  1. Skate No to Illiteracy

  2. I loved the book The Moonspinners. I didn't realize it was a movie too! Oh, and about time? Mine just grows wings and flies off!

  3. I have met some nearly illiterate, book-hating teachers. It's REALLY bizarre and disturbing – did they not get the memo about literacy and at least pretending to like books being part of the job? No?

  4. Caryn Caldwell

    I know what you mean about the days going by so quickly. My weekends, especially, are like that. At least you can look back and say that you did something during the day, even if it went fast!

  5. Keri Mikulski

    I know exactly what you mean.. But, it sounds like you did a bunch. :)

  6. I think locking the door to the copy room is acceptable as long as there isn't a member of the opposite sex in there with you. 😉

    I saw the Moonspinners ages ago. I don't remember it though. Hayley Mills is awesome though. I love Parent Trap and That Darn Cat.

  7. You Are My Fave

    Oh a skate night, how fun. Even if the posters are misspelled.

    And I love your choice of classic movies. I asked my husband the other day what movie he thinks he's seen the most times in his life and he said That Darn Cat. It made me laugh.

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