WHEREIN you empty the ephemera-crapload from First Born Son’s backpack and gingerly unpack the onion-skin-remnant once known as THE TAKE HOME FOLDER.
WHEREIN you ask your child which taped-toothpick stilt he wants to save and which tinfoil/glue throwing star-wad you may dispose of, and the answer always equals SAVE.
WHERIN after thoughtful consideration three days prior you threw out an unmarked and seemingly errant fresh-herbs-themed paper napkin from THE TAKE HOME FOLDER, having no idea that this one singular paper napkin sensation held the promise of DIY parachute.
WHEREIN at 7 am First Born Son–buoyant with Friday optimism–proclaims Time to make my parachute!
WHEREIN your microwaving sausages-tentacle pauses mid-links rotation, your two lunch-scavenging tentacles lay down their sandwich quarters, your two empty- the-dishwasher tentacles stop their silverware sorting and cupboard mug-tower assembling, and your remaining three tentacles rush to deliver coffee gulps, granola heaps, and peanut-butter-jelly knife residues into your mouth.
WHEREIN First Born Son inquires of the whereabouts of a paper napkin from THE TAKE HOME FOLDER
WHEREIN the earth stops spinning, fowl of all kinds do in fact come home to roost, and Karma winks her very Buddhist-smug wink at your stunned and full-to-bursting coffee/granola/PBJ biding-my-time smile.
WHEREIN you try to speak through all the chews “We no longer have it.”
WHEREIN First Born Son’s hope and innocence begin their free-fall.
“Why not? Where is it.”
WHERIN the veil is lifted…
“I threw it away. I didn’t know! Here’s another paper napkin. Why look at the bounty of tropical flipflops!”
WHERIN FIRST BORN SON NAOMI CAMPBELLS THE FLIPFLOP NAPKIN, THE EARTH TILTS ON ITS AXIS, AND KARMA LAUGHS AUDIBLY.
followed immediately thereafter by
*VESUVIUS ERUPTS. ATLANTIS, UNDER. TITANIC, DOWN. ANNE BOELYN IMIG BEHEADED*
WHEREIN keening keening keening keening keening keening keening keening keeeeening
WHERIN you posit “How about a paper towel? It’s white?”
WHEREIN First Born Son considers and tentatively accepts stand-in flipflopless disappointment of a perforated heart-embossed paper towel parachute.
…elipse…elipse…elipse…
WHEREIN Stand-in lame perforated heart-embossed paper towel parachute fails.
WHEREIN keening keening keening, keening keening keening, keening keening keeeeening
WHEREIN Second Born Son gestures with syrupy sausage link
“Ann! Never throw out anything from THE TAKE HOME FOLDER ever again. Promise!”
WHEREIN you evade response. WHEREIN you have no representation, but know this promise ill-advised. WHEREIN you accept the fact that your son will never know the color of his fresh-herbed-themed paper napkin parachute because you threw it away.
WHEREIN First Born Son demands “GO GET (hyper) IT FROM (ventilate) THE GARBAGE”
[dc al keening coda. This means First Born Son goes back to the first keening and continues keening.]
WHEREIN you threaten to take First Born Son to school in his decade-old hand-me down Camp Shalom tshirt and puppy-themed thermal jammy shorts, take away all of his screen time for the day and maybe the entire week if he does not pull himself together.
WHEREIN somehow you lead your people and the earth and sassy Karma back to homeostasis and deliver Your Two Sons to school.
WHEREIN you spend your day regaining composure and considering any and all TAKE HOME FOLDER lessons, solutions, or exit strategies, all-the-while knowing you’re destined to repeat a similar napkin fate by neglecting to see the future pet potential in a dust mote, or the skillfully crafted birdsnest Lego habitat in your hair tumbleweed you will one day have the nerve to pick up off the floor and dispose of.
WHEREIN First Born Son appears calm and happy at school pick-up time.
WHEREIN Second Born Son casually suggests to First Born Son…
“Remember? You lost your screen time?”
My daughter’s backpack and its itty bitty sticky glue paper crafty contents are guaranteed to make me retire to my bed with a case of the vapors.
I am always torn on how long the statute of limitations is for school treasures. Thank you for that fabulously funny Reminder that there is a waiting period!
“WHEREIN keening keening keening keening keening keening keening keening keeeeening.” HAHAHA. I’m sorry. Your pain is not funny. I am a mean person and someday I will suffer.
HAHAHA.
Ahh the mug tower…I can relate. It’s crockery jenga training ground around here. Hoping it soon becomes an Olympic event. Would it qualify for Summer or Winter though? Probably Winter.
LOL!!!!!!
Luckily – my oldest (school age) son could care less about anything that comes home in his backpack. But my younger son wouldn’t let me throw out ANY of his preschool projects (which he called his “workings”). When the twins start Kindergarten this fall, my disregard for the take home folder treasures will have to come to an end.
Beautiful! Been there. Done that.
Oh my gosh my daughter keeps enough in her bag to fend off anything from a blizzard to a tropical storm. It seriously weighs as much as a human by the end of the school year but I have learned over the years to never ever throw anything of hers away and if I do and she somehow forgets SOMEONE always reminds her of my terrible-ness.
This is, of course, all of our lives.
Having it had it up to my eyeballs with temper tantrums, as well as the periodic saving of something “accidentally” in the trash can (where “something” = an unidentifiable glue, glitter, ink creation with a broken string, the whole accidentally dampened by a leaking water bottle), I took a proactive (read: chicken$hit) solution. I bought two 18″ cubes (one per kid) with different colored lids. Everything potentially treasurable (i.e. anything that is not a spelling test) from the backpack goes into the box. At the end of the school year, I do a mega sort (while they are NOT home) and throw away 3/4 of it. Then I let them go through the last 1/4 and choose what they want to stick in the scrapbook from the year (where “scrapbook” = three-ring binder already produced by the school, into which we can shove a few more scraps since we have to store the damn thing anyway).
In short, if you just wait until they’ve forgotten about it to throw it away, it’s usually fine. Good luck!
This is absolutely terrifying, and embodies all of the reasons why I’m afraid to have kids.
But… you make it sound so darn entertaining. Have you considered writing a play about motherhood? Or, if you’ve written it already… can we read it? 🙂
Wow, I’m so impressed that you told the truth! I’m the queen of “Huh, where DID that pathetic scrap of paper go? I’m sure it will turn up eventually…”
Take-home folders send shivers up my spine. I have three such folders lurking under some other crap in my kitchen. If I don’t get to it soon, I am pretty sure that one or two of my kiddos will not eat on field day, will be imprisoned for a year or so, or something of a combination.
“workings!” Hah! That really is very adorable, once you find room for it all.
Correction!!!! Friday Folders send the shivers. In case you don’t receive these beauties, they are the “take-home” on one side and the “return” on the other side. Double your pleasure. The “return” part is where my neglect can cause dire events, or LACK of sheer bliss for them in the form of lunches, field trips, and the like.
I finally now have my kids trained that they immediately open said take home folder, remove any homework and letters addressed to ‘parent’ and then dump the rest into the trash. Hallelujah.
Hilarious!
Exquisite.
How you write like this, makes you into one of the most mystical wordsmiths out there.
Yeah. It never fails. The minute you throw it out, they come asking for it.
Never fails.
Just so funny. Particularly how you out #2 as the real family fomenter. Btw feel free to use mantra whenever I’m asked the whereabouts of something I know full well that I’ve thrown out: “I haven’t seen that in awhile.” Nice and ambiguous.
LOVE what Alexandra said about you being a mystical wordsmith. Seriously. WORD.
This KILLED me, Ann. I could see Miles standing before me with a quivering lip through the whole thing…oh yes, same conversations and keening and world turning upside down karma madness over here.
xo
I suspect that you are a genius. Obviously this means war.
Oh. Oh. Oh.
That moment of TIME TO MAKE MY PARACHUTE!
My heart breaks.
For you, of course.
My daughter’s take home file is also known as my car. Where glitter, scraps of construction paper and globs of nondescript “art” supplies mate.
I’ll miss this, right?
And thank you Julie Gardner for tweeting this post and bringing me back to joy that is the writing of Ann.
Obviously, your first mistake was to admit to throwing it out. My standard answer to such questions is “I don’t know, honey. Where did you put it?”, even if I know darn well it’s in the bottom of the dumpster. You would think that, as a result, these kids would be the most organized beings on the planet, in retaliation…but so far, I am in luck. I will continue to send them to the trash heap of their rooms, in hopes that fifteen other squashed pieces of paper distracts them from the Most Important Napkin In The World. It usually works, and I will happily pay the eventual therapy bill when the time comes if it means I don’t have to listen to a re-enactment of the Texas Chainsaw Massacre screaming scene again.
I am obviously, quite a coward. Judge away…..
The answer ALWAYS equals save – ALWAYS!
(She says from atop the mountain of folded tissue paper, glued construction paper, oddly shaped card stock, and strips of white paper cut with jagged-edge scissors.)
I am with Tired Mother. Deny! Deny! Deny!
I just have to say: having a teen and a pre-teen is looking prettttty good right about now.
Good luck and godspeed, my friend.
XO
A.
Oh wow, how I have missed your blog!!!
My godson’s take home folder is more like his entire room. I’m guessing neither you nor I will make the same ‘throw out” mistake again.
And you tell one hell of a story, Ann. Love this.
xo jj
my son once found his artwork in the recycle bin–even though i’d carefully concealed it in the day’s newspaper. he came in the back door holding it aloft and exclaimed, “MOM, what kind of MOTHER throws her OWN SON’S artwork away!?!” he’ll be 15 in 2 weeks. he still remembers.
This is brilliant. And I’m not saying that because last week I threw away a balloon, two Popsicle sticks and a plastic wheel, then had to scrounge through the garbage can the next morning because I’d actually thrown away THE MOST AWESOME CAR KIT EVER.
WHEREIN Ann Imig made me laugh audibly many times. Until I read my own essay in progress and ‘Naomi Campbell’d” my computer across the room.
Once we left for Bretagne the day after summer vacation started and we hadn’t had a chance to go through my middle son’s “work” as he called it. I asked my husband how the heck said son was supposed to sit on his seat when there was a huge bag on the back seat. But no, it was the son. Who wanted to bring the work on vacation with us.
Oh my goodness! I’m dying! Except that I’m sure it wasn’t funny at the time…
I’m with the deny deny deny camp and maybe also the lie lie lie camp: “last time I saw that paper towel you were playing with it in the bathtub,” say, for instance. Or: did you leave it on the bus/in the car/in your pocket of the pants you wore for 5 minutes and then threw in the dirty laundry pile?
But the paper-towel-based keening pales in comparison to the truly brilliant, Machiavellian moves of Second Born Son. Well played, lad, well played.