The other morning Huck was slowly yet frantically trying to get all his materials together for school while Troy waited for him in the car.  His overstuffed binder, making me nervous every time he zips it up, was giving him trouble.  ”Did you sign my agenda?” he asked in a panic.  Shoot! When will the two of us remember this daily requirement?  He handed me a pencil and then went back to putting his life together.  I had given him an envelope with 50 cents in it the night before for the next day’s Popcorn Friday and hoped it was somewhere in that important binder.  Finally he hefted the enormous backpack onto his body, kissed me passionately goodbye, and ran to the car.  It was 7:15 in the morning. By 7:30 I noticed the envelope with my handwriting sprawled upon it saying “Huck Schremmer – Popcorn Money.”

We didn’t use to be like this.

I was still recovering from the day before when I’d set up a play date that required Huck to take the bus home with his friend.  Huck had already gone to school when this plan was made because of his very early schedule, and so we attempted to get the news to him via his friend’s grandmother (and our friend) who teaches Huck’s advanced math group.  Hours later as my after-school program was just beginning, I received a phone call from Huck’s school saying he didn’t make it to his friend’s house.  Apparently when mothers get news like this all the blood stops running through their bodies and there’s no more oxygen in their brains.  I began walking briskly through the school with the phone pressed hard against my ear, finally ending up in the preschool laundry room that I didn’t know existed.  Somewhere during that journey I violently pantomimed to Troy through one of the classroom windows that Huck was missing.  Troy joined me in the dark room while I did deep breathing exercises and waited for the very nice lady to locate our child. Troy was sure Huck was perfectly fine, and deep inside I was too, but the other thing that happens to mothers in these instances is that they picture their child hitchhiking along a four lane highway about to be kidnapped by murderers.  Ten minutes later, the lady called me back with news that Huck was safe and sound at his after-school program.  My heart began pumping blood again and I felt my lungs fill up with sweet oxygen like the good old days.  As I regained feeling in my legs, I slowly returned to my role of after-school program director with a whole new sympathy for parents whose children we can’t find immediately.

When I got home I gave Huck about twelve more hugs than usual and asked him what happened.  He launched into a very serious speech about how he completely forgot about the play date because of how tired he is these days, how much he has on his mind, how hard he’s working, how much he’s learning, begging me to never, ever again change the plan in his already complicated day.  He’s a fifth grade business executive and I’m his Carol Burnett secretary.

Friday evening we three gathered on our porch having barely survived the week.  We had a glorious three day weekend ahead and Huck had half a bag of Friday Popcorn left in his backpack because somehow between the two of us we remembered the envelope.  Our weekend was filled with sleeping-in and good books and friends and relaxation and a touch of boredom.  It ended with a Labor day hike and swim at beautiful Kings River Falls with best friends, and we arrived back home to Indian food made by a dear friend & neighbor and flowers left on our porch by another dear friend & neighbor.  Last night before bed Huck excitedly listed everything Tuesday promised, including his first Quiz Bowl team practice and the start of Math Club.

Sometimes life is like this.

Photo By Geoff Brock