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Shopping for Sanity
Around this time last year, I wrote a thoughtful little post about the ritual of back-to-school shopping, and how it helps ease us into the transition. This year, however, after spending my Labor Day afternoon throwing elbows down the rapidly-depleting aisles of school supplies, I think I might just skip all that cautious optimism and proceed directly to Erma-Bombeckian mom angst.
It didn’t help that my beloved Target had to go and donate all that money to support a Minnesota gubernatorial candidate who wants to ban gay marriage. (Good old Target. I’m going to miss shopping there.) It also didn’t help that – after receiving a very nice letter from The Boy’s new first grade teacher, complete with a detailed list of school supplies; after getting him all psyched up for the friends in his class this year, his new room number, the new classroom pets – the school went and switched him to the other class.
It was nothing personal; just some administrative oversight that required shuffling a few kids who needed particular services to the classrooms that offered them. But I still felt a bit derailed. And The Boy’s enthusiasm for first grade started to wane, having mustered all that enthusiasm for a class he wouldn’t be a part of after all. Nice one, School. As the first day of school neared, he started showing signs of heightened anxiety – lots more yelling, even in play. And easily-provoked meltdowns that went to eleven. By the time the second letter from the second teacher arrived, my rosy back-to-school glow was fading fast. And there were only a few shopping days left.
Last year we’d had so much fun at pre-anti-gay-candidate-supporting Target, but this year The Boy was most insistent on staying home with his dad and sister. Fair enough. I figured I’d get more shopping done without the kids anyway. I went to Fred Meyer, a local grocery-and-everything-else store, figuring I’d be in and out pretty quickly. No. The entire back-to-school section was swarming with antsy kids and dazed parents clutching brightly colored lists from schools all over the city.
“Crayons! It doesn’t say what kind of crayons,” a dad despaired.
I was about to smirk, but then I saw what he was talking about. There were glitter crayons, erasable crayons, tartar control crayons, packs of all different sizes. My list specified Crayola 24-pack, which I couldn’t seem to locate anywhere amid the various Crayola offerings. The next item was Crayola thin markers. But the only thin markers were scented, which I knew would never do.
“Where’s the cart?” a stressed-out boy panicked.
“It’s right here,” answered an equally stressed-out dad, dumping a load of school supplies into my cart and wheeling it off with the pack of colored pencils I’d chosen.
Nuts to this, I thought, and walked back to the rainy parking lot empty handed. I had another errand to run on the other side of town, so I decided to try the Office Depot over there. But Office Depot was even crazier than Fred Meyer, with new UW students added to the mix. Middle schoolers pushed past me, kindergarteners stopped in a daze right in front of me, teenagers had loud conversations across the aisles with each other. One little girl brought down half the Sharpie display, trying to reach a particular color on the highest shelf.
I found most of the items on my list, feeling pretty cranky about not finding all of them as I waited in an epic line under blinding fluorescent lights. It was so hot. And I had to pee. It was probably a good thing that I didn’t have the kids with me, but at least their peevishness would have distracted me from my own. If Mr. Black had been there, I’d have probably picked a fight with him, making this all his fault somehow. As it was, I tried not to do too obvious of an I-have-to-pee dance while I waited.
Before long, I was waiting in another line in the ladies room of a nearby fancy outdoor shopping mall. In came a new mom, her huge stroller laden down with shopping bags and her sweet little baby in the Björn. Even though I didn’t envy her impending public restroom diaper change, even though I was glad to not be taking up the space of five people with my stroller, I still felt a tug of nostalgia for those baby days.
Life was simpler then. Sleepless and covered with bodily fluids, of course, but simpler. It was just you and the baby, and maybe some other mom friends and their babies, strolling through the park together in a blissful sleep-deprived haze. You didn’t have to meet with the baby’s teacher to warn her about his anxiety quirks. And if the baby cried, you just held him and rocked him to sleep. Simple.
I finished up my shopping and came home to The Boy having a five-alarm freak out because he’d missed “WordGirl.” The temptation to launch a five-alarm freak out of my own was huge, but somehow I resisted. Just barely. Wordlessly, teeth firmly grit, I escorted him to the bathroom and ran him a bubble bath. Eventually he calmed down.
Not me, though. This back-to-school transition anxiety can kiss my butt. Oh well. I know it’s going to be okay once we settle into the new routine, just like last year. And for now . . . well, at least he’s got the right 24-pack of Crayola crayons.
Tell it like it is, Rydell:
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Comment by The Oracle on September 7, 2010 at 12:47am -
My parents never got a list of $50 worth of school supplies to buy us. It was a Pee-Chee and a lunchbox aaaaand...that was about it. When did the list start? This was our first year of it and I have to say I was pretty pissed off. The stuff on the list is stuff the school would have supplied for us in the (cough cough) 1970s (cough cough). Paper! We had to buy two reams of copy paper for the classroom! WTF?!
I blame the Bush administration. Two simultaneous wars and a financial meltdown = no money for fat #2 Ticonderoga pencils for the nation's kindergarteners.
And seriously, does the brand matter that much? Why Ticonderoga? All I can say is, we better be getting enough kickbacks from the favored companies that we can drop at least one bake sale from the fundraising calendar this year.
/rant. For now.
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Comment by kanachick on September 7, 2010 at 6:19am -
Ticonderoga matters because they're the only ones still making quality pencils. I blame Walmart and the Walmartization of products...and the dollar store.
The thing to do is wait a week y'all. Just wait a week and do your school supply shopping while they're in school this week. Everything goes on sale - you can get notebooks for 25 cents and really, they don't need to have everything the first day.
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Comment by Kiwi on September 7, 2010 at 6:53am -
Store experiences like the one you described are why I praise Maude that the kid's school has a supply fee. You can either get the list and do your own shopping or shill out $30 per semester. I'll pay, thanks.
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Comment by wookie on September 7, 2010 at 7:47am -
I'd rather shill out the $$, like kiwi.
Don't knock pencil brand... freaking every pencil I bought last year was a piece of shite. Either that or my sharpeners suck ass.
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Comment by TommysMommy on September 7, 2010 at 8:54am -
As I kid, I always LOVED back to school shopping. I'd drive my mom nuts in August to go get everything. I absolutely had to have everything all lined up and labelled for the first day of school. I think I was a bit of a keener. ;-) We'll see how that all changes in a few years!
I understand the desire for kids to have consistent and quality products (because really, some of those dollar pencils do suck) but what do they do for parents who can't afford those?
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Comment by mcglory13 on September 7, 2010 at 8:58am -
People, this year is the first time in my life that I got a form, I checked off supplies, and they were given to me for teaching. Previously? Everything I needed I bought myself. Given what I make, it was a serious hardship, and yet I did it. :) This year I said I needed pens and I got a box of pens. A stapler. Some note pads. It was freaking AWESOME. This is my school supply story.
But yes, I would rather pay a supply fee than deal with the crowds myself for the small one.
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Comment by The Oracle on September 7, 2010 at 9:56am
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I'd think that with a supply fee they'd be able to get bulk discounts that we can't get as parents anyway. I wish our school had that option.
I ... guess I never use pencils so didn't realize there was a quality issue with them. Crayons, oh yes. I can understand that. And paints.
TM, I've seen signs around town, in stores and community centers and such, encouraging people to donate to school supply drives. I didn't understand what it was all about until, to my surprise, I got the list. It was seriously $50, not including backpack or clothes or shoes or anything, and that was $50 we couldn't really afford ... but we could, you know? More than others. So we did. But I really hope enough people donated to the drives that nobody had to spend more than they could really afford on supplies.
It seriously pisses me off that we have to do this. It's not right.
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Comment by Annaevilred on September 7, 2010 at 10:10am -
On the boy's list the teachers each wanted 3 comp books. The same comp books that the boys didn't use last year (and have run away over the summer) - Nope, I bought 1 each. to hell with that. If they need more stuff then the teacher can send home a note. Oh and $8 for PE shirts, $20 for Choir shirt, $20 for Band shirt, $10 for this class room, $10 for that class room. Oh, and the $45 for books that were not returned last year. It was so much easier when the went to private school and I just wrote a big fat check.
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Comment by Mamawho on September 7, 2010 at 12:19pm
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I do appreciate it when the supplies list specify that no folders, pencils, etc., have characters or other designs. It's a battle I don't have to fight.
I have always picked out her supplies carefully, making sure everything is easy for her to use, etc. I was so pissed last year when I found out that all the supplies (except pencils) were put into a community stash that the kids just grabbed from.
This year she changes classes (3rd grade!) so she keeps all her supplies in her book bag and takes it with her - her rooms are attached, so it's not a huge deal.
Her supply list last from 1st grade was overly specific, and required that she have a plain, orange folder. We drove all over Chicago in search of an orange folder. It's become a household joke, because no supply list can be that awful.
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Anna - I grew up in private school. We had to purchase our textbooks every year, from 1st grade on. Then sports fees, choir uniforms, trip fees, etc. It wasn't unusual to spend $1000 to start school every year.
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