Are We There Yet?
Watch a video of Principal/crossing guard Angie Schoonover in action.
Champaign doesn’t really have a rush hour. It’s more of a rush quarter-hour.
But on weekday mornings it happens to coincide with the time lots of kids are headed to school.
No matter how old we are, no matter how much we expected it, we’re never quite prepared to lose our parents.
My friends and I are at the age where it’s a common occurrence. Suddenly we’re the ones on the generational front line, without the emotional backup we’ve had since we were kids.
Note: This column appeared in the Sept. 1 News-Gazette.
Dear McDonald’s worker,
I feel I owe you an explanation.
I could tell by the look on your face that you were a bit taken aback when I came in for my missing Filet-o-Fish the other day.
You see, your nice friends in the drive-through had given me one of my sandwiches, but not the other one.
We parents wear many hats.
We chauffeur. We teach. We cook. We launder.
We are also activity directors. Each season we plot out our kids’ extracurriculars and calculate how the practice schedules may or may not fit into our own lives.
And with that role comes another responsibility: parent volunteer. I have to say my record in this area is somewhat checkered.
When my son turned 8 years old, one reassuring thought popped in my head: he’s still only halfway to driving.
That fear has lurked in the recesses of my brain since the day he as born, when I couldn’t imagine this tiny baby someday commandeering a metal killing machine.
We have arrived at that day. He is now 15, and about to get his permit.
Summer has just started (by the school calendar if not the actual calendar) and we’ve already checked one item off my daughter’s vacation bucket list: a beach road trip.
It wasn’t a drive-two-days-to-get-to-the-ocean beach vacation, although I am always open to that possibility. It wasn’t even a weekend getaway.
This was more of a mini, midweek beach trip.
The pet pressure is building in our household.
I’ve managed to hold off acquiring a furry friend for eight years, since our last kitty went to meet her feline maker.
But our kids are fairly relentless, and I’ve run out of excuses.
For awhile, it was hairball fatigue. I wasn’t ready to deal with the cleanup involved with a pet and two young kids.
There I was, contemplating how I could steal something back from a local thrift shop and asking myself, “How did I get here?”
Let’s back up a few days.
About a month ago, on the first sunny Saturday in a while, I felt energized to do some spring cleaning.
This doesn’t come easy for me. I save everything. My house could be one of those “before” pictures on decluttering.com.