Schooled

A few years ago the Z was standing beside me at a gas station ATM, eyes wide as money spit into my hands. A few days later when I told him I did not have the cash to purchase yet another set of neon vampire teeth he told me to just find another one of those machines where I won all that money the other day. It’s for this reason and others that it’s probably a really good thing that his school gets to send classes to the school of economics each year.

When I was a kid it seemed like all of the other elementary schools in the area got to go to some kind of economics/supply and demand fun day … but mine. I went to a tiny parochial school that did seriously awesome things like slumber parties in the school basement and “Let’s talk about Aztec human sacrifice!” But we didn’t get to go to Exchange City, and after hearing all of the neighbor kids talk about working in the bank or owning their own shop or buying bags of candy with their pretend paycheck I was feeling pretty gypped. So when Ace first started attending SoE when we moved here in 2^nd grade, I was pretty psyched for him. But not so much that I volunteered for it. I volunteer for a lot of stuff at the kids’ schools; I’ve gone to literature festivals and concerts and plays and planned parties and served vats of Hawaiian Punch. There are just some events I’ve opted out of. But right now…. What else am I doing?

Besides laundry. I am ALWAYS doing laundry.

I want you to imagine a room a little larger than a two car garage. Put eight shop booths around the perimeter and cafeteria tables in the middle. Stock each booth with four third graders and a large amount of kool-aid, sugar, and/or glitter. Then unleash 50 first graders with wads of play money. They are excited. They are anxious. They need a hot dog RIGHT NOW. They are LOUD. Now, take half of the 50 third graders working the booths… and set them FREE! Give them their “wages” and send them among the masses to consume. Watch as they all line up at YOUR SHOP because you are not only the first store inside the doors, but also the only one with potato chips and pixy stix. Do this in cycles for two hours. Consider, more than once, hiding in the staff bathroom. Don’t because you fear for the kind grandmother who was suckered into volunteering your booth as well. Consider, more than twice, using duck tape on the kid who keeps trying to take all of the money out of the drawer and just clapped chalk dust over the drinks. Don’t because… well, because you don’t have any duck tape.

But then watch as something really cool happens… and these four or five third graders start working as a team. They’re setting prices and mixing Kool-Aid and cooking hot dogs all on their own. They do the dishes and sweep the sugar dust off the floor. They know they have an $85 loan from the “bank” and that, in addition to paying it back, they have to pay rent, taxes, and utilities. Try not to snort coffee through your nose when the kid in the Uncle Sam hat comes around for the tax checks and you hear a third grader mumble about “big government”. And I dare you not to smile when Chalk Dust Boy is shilling the booth’s wares for all he’s worth, determined to be the first team to sell out of product... or when the kids realize that not only did they make enough money to pay back their loan and the overhead costs, but enough to turn a real profit. That they were successful.

And while it wasn’t like I'm sure Ye Olde Exchange City was back in the day, I had my moment of commerce. I bought a hot dog, four cups of kool-aid…. And a purple eye patch. It’s awesome and I refuse to take it off. It feels like a childhood dream is coming true.

Would anyone like to hear about Aztec human sacrifice? It’s the least I can do.


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Honored

A quick note- I wrote this originally back in February, but for some reason it didn't post. So I'm posting it now. Why? Because I can. 

I'm a pretty lucky parent most of the time. My kids are pretty well behaved (well, except when around each other for more than a few minutes at a time. But we haven't had bloodshed in, oh, minutes!), they're pretty well liked, and they do pretty well in school. And that last part? That's pretty important to us. It's not so much the grades, but that they are performing at their own personal best. Sometimes it can be a struggle, beating back the procrastination beast, letting a few things slide for a while. It's a lesson our 13 year old is beginning to learn as advanced classes and a social life battle for supremacy. Somehow, though, he made it work, and here we are again at honor roll awards night. 

Secretly I'm just in it for the awesome bumper stickers... HOW I LOVE THOSE BUMPER STICKERS!

I made him dress up this year, which pretty much turned me into a mix of Stalin and your choice of North Korean leaders. He almost had a reprieve when we discovered not a single Mom-Approved item from HIS closet was going to work, unless the Urkel look has come into fashion. 

I should have known. He's taller than my 5'8" these days. But discovering that he and his dad have the same inseam was a little much for me. Upside? No last minute shopping. That was an upside for both of us. His father owns enough button downs and pairs of dress slacks to outfit the entire seventh grade. His closet space is twice that of mine, for crying out loud! OK, I'd better stop before I start retribution shopping at Gap.com

These nighttime assemblies move pretty fast, given the amount of kids they go through. Sixth and seventh grade go in the evening. Eighth grade gets breakfast. I wonder if they'd switch that to a lovely after-school snack for my sake? I don't do well with mornings. Ah, well, the things we do for our kids....

"Maybe if I don't look the principal directly in the eye I can stay under his radar
and avoid turning into stone..."

Nine semesters in a row of straight A's, Kid. Not too shabby... not too shabby at all.