Chapter Seven Augusta #3
“I’m confused about Sailor’s parents,” Augusta mused aloud, turning back to her computer.
She was putting together the Evite and had made a list of all the students in Charlie’s class, along with their parents’ email addresses.
“Sailor has two dads, and I don’t know which one handles the family calendar. ”
“Maybe they both do?” Colin ventured.
“Ha!” Augusta shook her head knowingly. “In every family there is one calendar tzar and it’s always the mom.”
“Oh really?” Colin teased. “So, you’re the calendar tzar here?”
“What are we doing next weekend?”
Colin thought about it. “I have no idea.”
“Exactly.” Augusta nodded, vindicated. “But for Sailor I just don’t know where to send the Evite.”
“Just send it to both of them?”
“But the website charges you if you exceed thirty email addresses and so I’m only including one adult per family.
” It was hugely annoying, but after doing this for years for Jane’s class, Augusta had learned it was just the way.
Everyone sent all birthday party invitations to the mothers.
It was the etiquette, as firmly established as the fact that you should say “no gifts” on the invitation and everyone would bring gifts anyway.
“How about I give you twenty bucks and you send it to all the dads,” offered Colin.
“No, I’m just going to pick the one named Paul as the calendar tzar and if he doesn’t RSVP I’ll know I got it wrong.” And with a click of her mouse, Augusta fired off the first of nine thousand emails she would send as class parent.
Kindergarten curriculum night was held the final week of August, and it arrived, as always, amid a flurry of snarky emails from parents.
Do we really need to spend two hours talking about sharing?
Are they going to make us all sit in those little chairs again?
Can we all agree we won’t ask any questions so we can go home by eight?
Augusta, having been through all this before with Jane, adopted the role of elder statesman and responded only with a laughing emoji and a reminder that there would be drinks afterward.
Zoey came to babysit again, taking off her chunky black boots by the door and putting her bag, an army-green thing with safety pins on it, in the closet.
Augusta admired Zoey’s style, it was cute to see the teenagers dressing in vintage ’90s clothing, but she herself would no sooner wear combat boots in public than Tevas with socks, it was that far outside her sartorial comfort zone.
Even as a kid Augusta had taken her style edicts from The Official Preppy Handbook, reasoning that if she always maintained a classic vibe she would never look back at old photos and wonder what the hell she’d been doing wearing mall bangs or tube tops.
Augusta showed Zoey the pantry, freshly stocked with pita chips and chocolate-covered pretzels, reminded her how many ounces of milk to feed Beatrix before bed, and then darted off into the humid summer night with Colin.
It was sad that an evening spent in a school gymnasium talking about STEM and early childhood development felt like a hot date, but she still thrilled slightly at the prospect of ditching the endless nighttime routine of children’s toothbrushing and bedtime stories.
At the school the other parents clearly all had the same feeling.
There was happy buzz, a sense that they were out after dark, hugging and kissing hello and laughing a little too loudly.
Augusta knew all the teachers by name, and she made a point to do a circle around the gym and check in with everyone.
Half the parents were new to the school, and she could see them awkwardly sticking name tags on their chests, writing their child’s name in small parentheses beneath their own.
Fran and RJ were there, Hale was in the same class as Charlie, and they sat together on the bleachers and listened to the teachers speak one by one about the different subjects.
The kindergarteners would learn to recognize their letters, they would practice the pincer grip while writing, they would use a ten frame to understand the basics of math.
On top of all that, the school would focus on the whole child, would introduce them to a feelings meter that would help them articulate anger and sadness, would teach them dance and music, and they would learn about their bodies using correct anatomical language.
Augusta and Colin had heard this all in Jane’s year, but Augusta wasn’t bored.
School was this strange black box, this place her children disappeared off to every day, arriving home with only the vaguest details about how they had passed eight hours.
It was honestly like they were in the CIA or something and had pledged to remain evasive about their movements.
Sometimes Jane would slip and mention a dodgeball game at recess, or a cardboard boat designed to carry pennies, but most days she would only report who she sat with on the bus, and so Augusta found herself unpacking Jane’s leftover lunch and riffling through her backpack for clues, like a Roman prophet inspecting the entrails of a bird, seeking to divine meaning.
After curriculum night finished Augusta directed Charlie’s class to the brewery for drinks.
She had reserved an area outside and cajoled along the people who were trying to dash home and relieve the babysitter early.
The more cohesion she could get among the class parents, the easier it would be for her to strong-arm them into volunteering for the Christmas fair, the canned-food drive, and field trip chaperone duty.
The brewery had picnic tables and the parents crowded around, Augusta taking a seat on the end of one and realizing too late that Colin had been trapped at another. He and RJ were with Alexia, the beautiful mom on their bus route, and a handful of new parents.
“So, I have a question,” one of the new moms said, turning to Augusta. “When they talk about teaching the kids correct anatomical language, what exactly do they mean? Are they teaching sex ed in kindergarten?” The table all turned to Augusta expectantly.
“No, they don’t talk about human reproduction until second grade, but I think it’s more fair warning that this language is going to be out there. Like the second graders might talk about it on the bus and your kindergartener might hear it.”
“So, the bus is basically the dark web for children,” joked a dad wearing a hoodie. “They can find out about anything on the bus.”
“And they trade stuff on the bus,” added another. “My kid asked for ten dollars the other day because she wanted to buy some boba tea key chain off some other girl.”
“Did you let her do it?”
“No! So, she went and traded her Tamagotchi that cost thirty bucks and then cried when she regretted the trade.”
“But at least you don’t have to listen to a Tamagotchi beeping at you anymore.”
“And the fucking SONGS they learn on the bus—oh, sorry, language!”
“My kid learned every swear word on that bus,” said Fran knowingly. “He’s absolutely fluent in curses now.”
“I let my kids swear at home,” countered a father in a black Grateful Dead T-shirt. “I swear and it’s hypocritical for me to tell them not to.”