Too Many Calls From School? You Won’t Hear Me Complaining

I’d just picked up the phone when my cellphone rang. But I didn’t bother dropping one to run for the other. I’m familiar with this game by now.

First the home phone goes off. I pick it up, say hello, and there’s a pause. The automated message is coming.

Then the cellphone goes off, the strains of an Adele song coming at me from whatever recesses of the couch my iPhone was slipped into after the kid finished off a game of Angry Birds or Temple Run. Ah yes, a reminder that I really need to change that ringtone.

The angry Brit is just finished warning me about rumors when I hear another sound … I have text.
Wherever my husband is, he’s going through something similar, although his ringtone is less angsty grrl power music. First the call, then the text.

This is what it is to have a child in school these days. You will NOT be allowed to miss the news that the date of meet the teacher night has been changed (again).

I want to complain because, well, let’s face it, that’s one of those things that bonds us parents together. We find something about our kid’s school to roar our terrible roars and gnash our terrible teeth about on the sidelines at soccer practice or pickup from dance class. Who wants to talk about the weather when you can talk about bullies or the ridiculous lunch guidelines? This is our moment to get it out among people who feel our very tender pain!

But I can’t.

Not this time.

I remember all too well the days of getting up at the crack of dawn to set different several different radios to different stations in the hopes that you’d catch the one listing school news right away so you could go back to bed. As a woman who is just as committed to enjoying her sleep as I was as a teenager, this memories are not fond, but thank goodness they are growing increasingly distant.
My apologies to my colleagues in the radio business, but I don’t need you anymore.

I have a call to my house, a call to my cell, a text to my cell, a call to my husband’s cell, a text to my husband’s cell … and sometimes, if I’m lucky, there’s an email too.

This, my friends, may be overkill. But if it gives me 30 minutes of extra sleep, I’ll take overkill.

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