The FCB

I’ve been feeling really awesome about how this school year has been going.

I’ve got the after school routine pretty well nailed down.

The kids are basically independent when it comes to making their lunches.

I’ve got the papers under control.

I didn’t miss any picture days yet. And I knew when all the Open Houses were.

We have only misplaced two library books so far, so I’m gonna consider that a win, too.

Our mornings are running smoothly, and we’ve only had to do one sprint out to the bus.

Basically, I’ve been kicking some serious ass in the school day department.

And then last Friday, Ellie, the class stuffed animal, came home.

Ugh.

As soon as one of the kids comes home with the fucking canvas bag, I know I’m a goner.

This year was no different than any other year.

Number 5 skipped down the front walkway from the bus proudly showing me the FCB.

“Mommy! It’s my turn for Ellie! We have to write in her journal and talk about all the stuff that we do with her this weekend! I’M SO EXCITED TO HAVE ELLIEEEEEE!!!”

I told Number 5 we would get to it tomorrow.

And then we completely forgot about Ellie until about 8:00 on Sunday night.

“MOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMYYYYY! WE FORGOT TO WRITE IN ELLIE’S JOURNAL! WWWWWHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAA! AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!! WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!”

I told Number 5 it wasn’t gonna happen on Sunday night.

The meltdown of the century ensued.

I looked at the journal accompanying Ellie in the FCB.

It was full of some really annoying entries already.

This weekend we took Ellie to Central Park!

This weekend Ellie learned to speak Chinese with some friends!

This weekend Ellie met Kate Middleton and then she helped deliver a baby in the back seat of a cab and then she was blessed by Pope Francis who stopped his motorcade, got out of the car, walked over and kissed Ellie on the head!!!

Okay.  I made that last one up.

But the other two were real, and there were dozens of really cute pictures of Ellie traveling all over the fucking East Coast with Number 5’s classmates.

And it’s not even October yet.

I didn’t share those entries with Number 5, and I prayed her teacher didn’t actually read what was written in Ellie’s journal out loud to the class either.

Instead, last night as I rushed out the door to go to practice, I said to my mom who came up to babysit, “Number5hasthisjournalandsheneedshelpwritinginitcanyouhelpherdoitwhileweareatpractice?Thanks!Ineedtohurry!Bye!”

I ran out of the house and let my mom deal with it.

I have no idea what they actually wrote in there.

But I’m sure it wasn’t what would have been written had Ellie been allowed to write the journal entry herself:

This weekend Number 5 very excitedly brought me home to her house. She has a big family and six kids living at home, so I was really excited to get there.

You know what I got to do this weekend with all those kids?

Not a damn thing.

I spent the whole weekend stuffed inside my FCB. I didn’t see the light of day. Well, I did once when the baby sister got a hold of me and licked me. Then Number 5 started crying hysterically because I had spit germs on me and her mother shoved me back inside the FCB where I stayed until Monday morning.

It was a shitty fucking weekend.

The end.

I’m not going to beat myself up. Because I’m pretty sure that elephant’s journal is the first grade equivalent of Facebook. A bunch of parents trying to impress and outdo other parents.

So this year, it just didn’t happen. This year, the FCB got me again.

But at the rate I’m going getting my shit together with all the school stuff, by the time Number 7 gets to first grade, her FCB journal entry will be epic.

And if it isn’t? Well, at least now we know we can always give it to Grammy.

 

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