IMAGINE PICTURE OF DICE ROLLING CAN’T GET MEDIA TO WORK
It’s a week on from when I originally sat down to write this post and I am bone tired. Somehow the last seven days have flown by as fast as the guy calling the races at Ascot last Friday when the horses were coming down the last stretch. Just as the announcer highlighted the horses that were hastily making good time to the finish line, key names, dates and responsibilities keep piping up out of the internal commentary running inside my head at fibre optic speed recalling my own race to the end of the school year. There are exams, proms, balls, Suessical the Musical, art exhibits, open air concerts, French Day, Shakespeare in the Sun, concerts, sports days, home clothes days, teacher present presentations, prize giving, and speech days. Also thrown in for good measure there are birthday parties, end of year “gatherings” (according to my teenager “you can only call them a “party” if there are more than twenty people, Mom”), car services, charity garden days to volunteer at, grocery deliveries, dry cleaning to drop of and pick up, Fracture Clinic appointments and breast cancer check ups (all clear for another 6 months-phew!), husband to pack and send off to windsurfing weekend in Spain and daughter to pack and send off to Alsace for a week. Not to mention the World Cup Games to record and watch (of course), Andy Murray to cheer on at Wimbledon and the preparations for going away for three weeks to South Carolina.
If nothing else, the Bennett bus is clocking up some serious mileage such that I’m considering paying for some proper vehicle signage to be painted above the back bumper. I think it should read “Journeys to and from Caterham School” and include my mobile phone number, and possibly, rates. You know like the mini cabs have? But then again, I’d have to jack up the kids pocket money and that seems ridiculous especially if I would have to start making change because they don’t have debit cards yet. Okay, scratch the rates.
I don’t mean to gripe. I know we are doing exactly what every other family with school aged kids is doing this time of year, but I’m still CRAZED and need to vent about it. It’s got to the point where even throwing in a load of laundry to have some special shirt, skirt or athletic uniform ready for the next event seems like a serious accomplishment. Oh, and don’t get me started about the suspect food I’m throwing on the plates for my children to gobble down between bookings. I guess they should be thankful I am remembering to feed them at all as well as the pets. I’ve gotta admit I have actually fantasized about what it would be like if I could feed the kids the food from the cats’ packets just to get it all over and done with a little more efficiently. Imagine the time I could save on shopping, cooking, cleaning, filing, running and emptying the dishwasher.
I think I get particularly agitated because I live in fear that I might forget something. Something important like, um, Skyler needed his white sports kit for sports day on Thursday. It lives with his trainers, cap and trackies, when it is not being cleaned, in his sports bag. You know, the bag I only realised at 10pm on Wednesday night had been MIA since he broke his arm during games two weeks ago and was too heavy to carry to Taekwondo (which somehow he managed to do even with a broken forearm). Thankfully the moms from his class got my back and offered up a variety of uniform to make sure he’d be set for the day if said bag did not resurface when we raced to school to check the changing rooms the next morning. (Bag was, by the way, in his cubby hole the whole time). Somehow between the two of us we both clocked it was missing in time so that we could do something about it.
But you hear me, don’t you? You’ve got to agree end of school year logistics are nuts. With Ascot in mind, I’ve thought at the rate I am going I could start to take odds on whether or not we really will make it to the 4th of July with all tasks completed as necessary. I’m not the best at statistics and am a bit daunted that working everything out might be as confusing as calculating who will get into the next round of the World Cup, but it could be worth a try.
The very term “the odds”, though, kinda gives me the creeps. They make whatever you are betting on sound so unlikely. For example, what are the odds it will actually shine at Shakespeare in the Sun? Like that isn’t a call for a torrential downpour? Or what are the odds Skyler will break his arm for the third time in a June before we are due to go to South Carolina for the summer? I actually don’t need the odds on that one. He actually did break his arm – AGAIN – as I mentioned above and we are now calculating the odds of whether the cast will come off in time for us to fly to the US. No, I much prefer the phrase “what are the chances” of something happening or not. It just sounds so much more optimistic. Like what are the chances the whole England team is willing Andy Murray to get to the Finals so the public distain for them might begin to dissipate. I’m willing to guess that is what they call a “certain” event on the old probability line from math class.
Now I’m on to chances I can’t bear to wrap up without sharing with you the funny article in today’s Independent online. It is quick and straight to the point like I need to get better at doing because you know, well, we are all busy. As you’ll see if you follow the link, they’ve calculated the chances of being bitten by a shark versus being bitten by Luis Suarez. If you are getting ready to head to the beach you might rest easier to know you are more likely (1 in 2,000 chances) of being bitten by Suarez than you are to be bitten by a shark in the ocean which they calculate at 1 in 3.7m chances. Suarez is also more likely to get his gnashers into you than for you to be struck by lightning (1 in 10,000), killed by a wasp, bee or hornet attack (1 in 76,000) or hit by an asteroid (1 in 700,000).
Aah, I feel much better and safer now. Please do feel free to avoid the roads around Caterham or atleast wherever my car is traveling if you want to ensure a babbling, betting Bennett does not bash you in her gut busting to get this year done and dusted. Breathe……cue Johnny Mathis.