The recurring bring-something-from home is manageable and fits right into how we operate – routine, routine, routine – and I generally don’t forget. Once I did forget, though it wasn’t necessarily a memory issue. It was “U” week, and earlier in the week I had decided that I didn’t want to send Ella to school with an umbrella. I figured everyone would do that. The only problem was, I didn’t think of an alternative. Even now, I struggle to think of a word that starts with “U” other than “under” and “up.” I could show-and-tell those words, but Ella? Not so much, even with a little coaching. I’ve tried. So, during "U" week, Ella had nothing for show-and-tell.
Most often, the bring-something-from-home request is random, seemingly pulled out of the air but I'm sure completely planned. Sometimes, we’re given a day’s notice, like the time we were informed that the kids were to bring in their favorite books to read… TOMORROW. The timing of reading such a request is an important factor in its fulfillment – too early the day before, and it gets put off for later (and forgotten) given so much time to prepare for such a small task; too late the day before, and I’m either already in bed and putting it off for a morning task or it’s not even the day before and I’m reading the notice after having dropped Ella off at school, bookless.
Other times of random requests, we’re informed of a project that the kids will be working on later in the week or the following week. The most common request of this nature has been to bring in a picture or two, be it a family picture, baby picture, recent picture and even a pet picture. This type of request is currently on the top of my mind and not yet actioned since I read Ella’s daily report for this past Friday where her teachers asked that the kids each bring in a baby picture sometime next week. I can’t speak for other mothers, but these picture requests are more difficult to deliver than it sounds. In this world of digital photos, we just don’t have a lot of pictures lying around. The pictures that we do have are either framed and not for potential butchering for a school project or are buried in a growing stack of papers in the office or a box of baby memories somewhere in the basement.
Cal’s teacher recently asked the kids to bring in some pictures of themselves. I’m not really sure how the ask was worded, but I understood it to be to bring in a picture of him as a toddler and one of him as a 5-year-old. Somehow, I’m not sure how since it was clear to me the second time I read the request, I missed the ask for the picture of him as a baby and sent Cal to school with two pictures. But I did so ON TIME. Actually, it turned out I was ahead of time. For some reason, they didn’t do the project on the day they had planned; and we were informed that those who had forgotten had another day to bring in some pictures.
I was so proud of myself. I didn’t even need to pay attention to the message as I had already done my job (or so I thought). And although I noticed the three pictures (baby, toddler and recent) of the kid with whom Cal shares a cubby, I didn’t really pause to ask myself why there were three and not just two and then re-check the request.
A couple of days later when I was picking the kids up from school, Cal proudly announced that he wanted to show me something and had me follow him to a wall in the back of his classroom. At first glance, I saw many pieces of yellow construction paper, each with three pictures attached to it. Gulp. Cal directed me to his piece of yellow construction paper where I saw the two pictures I had sent with him to school. They were positioned vertically on the paper, one on top of the other. Beneath the second picture was a hand-drawn picture of Cal as a baby, Cal’s self-baby-portrait, I like to call it.
Initially I was sad. Cal’s was the only project “missing” a picture. I felt as though I had failed him. More than sad, I was incredibly proud. He could have very easily given me flack for failing to send him to school with the three pictures that Mrs. Dunham had requested. He could have very easily been upset about it, too. But he didn’t. And he wasn’t. Instead, he was simply proud of the project that he had completed and wanted to show it to me.
To the right is a picture of his
project as it still hangs on the wall in his classroom. I regularly revisit the mental image
I have of him, realizing he was missing a picture, just drawing a picture of
himself as a baby in its place. Mrs.
Dunham may have suggested he do that, I never asked. In this image I have of him, his tongue is
peeking through his lips, he has a small grin on his face and he is quickly
drawing a baby. Next, he takes the
toddler picture and places it above his hand-drawn baby picture; and then he
places his kindergarten picture on top to finish off the project. Finished, he raises it in the air and says, “Look
at mine, Mrs. Dunham,” shows her and then runs off for whatever fun is in store
for him next. Not once does he wish he had a "real" baby picture.Needless to say, I have not yet sent Ella to school with a baby picture to deliver on the latest simple challenge presented to me. It probably didn’t help that her teachers gave me some breathing room when I asked them about it on Monday. “Oh, you have time,” they said when I asked them if we’re too late for the project. But no date was specified, not that I pressed for one. With any wriggle room, I am destined for failure.
Today, over the course of writing this post, I decided that in the absence of a reliable, sensible system, I will just treat every one of these random bring-something-from-home requests as urgent and needed the next day, whether they really are or not. I operate best under those conditions anyway. And, as I post this blog, two baby pictures of Ella are sitting on the kitchen island in plain view, ready for the taking to school tomorrow morning. Why two? I couldn't decide which one to take. This is surely a topic for a future post.
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