The other day I pouted like my preschooler in front of the Y desk lady. It was my daughter’s swim practice, and as a newbie to this affair, I couldn’t seem to break through the professional cliques of repeat membership moms, the ones who carry their kids’ chlorine-bleached gear with pride and speak stroke and technique as though they were discussing a complicated football maneuver. I envied the ease with which they mingled in the lobby, with all their ducks in a neat row and their swimmers in the right lanes.
I had just sent off my swimmer into the unknown – gently guiding her toward the packed pool deck with instructions to find her coach. Parents aren’t allowed poolside, so I made a quick exit, eager to follow the parents’ handbook instructions. The week before, while attending a parent orientation, I had already made an unfavorable first impression by snorting too loudly through my nose at the idea of becoming a certified official at future meets so I could spend additional time volunteering, beyond the already expected commitment. My poor attempt at disguising my snort as a mild cold symptom did little to aid in my backpedaling.
Just as the season started, my daughter also signed up to learn an instrument and join chorus as her elementary school. I was immensely proud of her musical endeavors and pictured stellar SAT scores from my well-rounded future scholar; and I was just one orientation away from learning the ropes. During the orientation, I kept a much lower profile and only gasped once, under my tactfully held breath, when the instructor discussed finance options for the instruments. Everything was clearly outlined for the parents, so I left an hour later thoroughly confused, hoping that another trusted parent handbook would guide me once again.
A week later, the results came in. Coaches, communication directors, chorus instructors, and band teachers emailed all the vital statistics to live by.
Flute 2, Day 2
Band, Day 4 – Yellow Schedule (nobody said anything about a color code)
Chorus, Day 2
Rehearsals, Day 4
Swim Level 2 White Team (more color codes)
Jefferson Team (why throw a president’s names into the mix?)
Practice Day 1, 3, and 5
Meets every other week at 7 a.m. (don’t forgot to bring coffee)
Sign-up for 5 dozen bake table donations, no less
The numbers have become my new mantra, not that I had a previous one, other than my slacker “go with the flow” approach. Two months in, I’ve gotten the hang of it. I may gripe about the tedious structure of it all, but the alternative might not be so pretty. Not that I would pack the bathing suits for school and the flute for the Y. If I can handle hair-raising deadlines at work, managed by Microsoft Outlook, I can certainly handle this. So I have put complete faith in my refrigerator, where the days and respective numbers to live by are posted for anyone to see…and occasionally ignore. My son is only in preschool, so we have a little loafer cushion for now.
By the time he needs his own space on the fridge, we’ll manage his activities like pros and with an overhauled attitude, applying lessons learned. I’ll leave the passive-aggressive, cynical snorts to the new slackers, while I work meets, practices, and other gatherings like a networking pro, the numbers neatly stored in my head. And I’ll pick up a few new fridge magnets as a contingency plan in the process.
My trusted, plant-covered master schedule.
