Confession

West Chester School District has a lovely policy of notifying you when they cancel or delay school. First, they email you. Then, in case you are not checking your email around 5:00 a.m., they call you. Naturally I do not always answer the phone at that hour. This information is just setting you up for my confession below...

Recently Dan was away on a trip *gasp* [total surprise!!!], and so I roused the people at the usual hour to get ready for school. It was bitter cold this morning, and a little rainy. Ed Buckner fretted about walking to the bus stop in such weather, but finally found enough gear to protect him from anything Mother Nature might throw at him on the 90-second walk to the corner. Katie couldn't find her gloves, but did have her heavy, down-filled coat and her heavy boots. I assured her she'd be fine since they were about to miss the bus, they wouldn't be going out for recess today, and just stick your hands in your pockets on the way there!!

My habit is to stand on the landing between floors where I can see them even at the corner where they wait for the bus. I wait until I see them get on the bus before I go back inside. And so I waited there as I watched them hustle down the sidewalk and cross the street. I briefly considered digging through the front closet for the golf umbrella to go hold over their heads, but thought I couldn't be down there before the bus would arrive. I waited, and waited, and waited a bit more. The morning bus is not always on time, so I thought that maybe it was just a bit late.

Suddenly Katie comes running back up the sidewalk, with me screaming over the railing "Katie-get-back-there-you-are-going-to-miss-the-bus!!!!!!!!!!!!" She's breathless, and tugs on my sleeve as she says, "Mama, I'm freezing!! I'm getting wet!"

"Katie!!," I half-screamed, "You have to go back! The bus will be here any second!!" I turned her around, and pushed her in the direction of the stairs.

I didn't even know he was coming back, too, but there's Jack beside me, holding his shoe.

"Mom! My shoe is wet!"

"Huh? WHYYYYYY is it WET? The sidewalks have been shoveled!!!"

"I was playing in the snow," he states matter-of-factly, like I should have expected this.

"I want my boots."

"No. You don't have time. BOTH OF YOU GO BACK TO THE BUS STOP!"

Much huffing and puffing, and gnashing of teeth as they stomp downstairs. I immediately feel bad, so I run inside and get Jack's boots.

"JACK!" I'm screaming over the rails again (just below someone's bedroom window, I'm sure).

"I'VE GOT YOUR BOOTS! COME OVER HERE AND I'LL THROW THEM TO YOU!"

Simultaneously as I throw the first boot he yells back, "Noooooooooo Mom do NOT throw them!"

First boot lands right in front of him on the sidewalk. Second boot...not exactly as accurate....it landed on the roof below me.

"MOMMMMMMMMMM! NO!!! I TOLD YOU NOT TO THROW IT!! GEEEEZZZZZZ!

Now he's running up the stairs.

Crap. Now what do I do. I stand there speechless as he berates me - justifiably - for throwing his boot onto the first floor roof. Of course, it's in a foot of snow on the very edge of the roof. The edge away from the railing, that is, so I can't just reach through the railing and get it, even with a broom (yes, I tried). Now we are frantic to find something to get them. Jack tries the broom, too, and even a hanger. We argue about wearing his wet shoes. He asks if he can go get someone from the office to get it. Sure, I say. I'll just have to drive you to school. You are definitely going to be late for school.

While Jack is in the office, I get the stepstool. When he comes back he announces that the office said they wouldn't get on the roof to retrieve it until the snow is gone!!! Oh ok...so that means the boot will be there UNTIL APRIL!

"Nope, new plan, Jack!" I tell him.

He looks at the stool, and back to me.

"No, Mom, I am not doing that. I am not climbing over there!"

"Yes you are. Get on it."

And so I make my nine-year-old son climb over the rail and tread through about a foot of snow on a roof to get his boot. Mother of the year!!

Surprisingly, it's about this time someone from the office trudges up the stairs, looks at the stool, Jack with one boot on and one in his hand, and me in my robe, and says, "Who threw the boot?"

I had to be honest in front of my son.

"I did," I admitted with a very nervous giggle.

"Sorry you had to come up here. No worries, though, we got it thanks!" And hustled back inside pulling Jack behind me.

We get back inside and the clock on the microwave says something like 9:20. School started 20 minutes ago!!

"COLE! COLE! GETUPWEHAVETOTAKEKATIEANDJACKTOSCHOOL HURRYHURRYHURRY!"

I practically drag him out of bed, and shove his feet into his boots, and throw his coat at him.

It's at this point for some reason it occurs to me that maybe, just maybe, school might be canceled. Quickly I log on to my email on the computer, and there it is at the top. An email from West Chester School District. I didn't have to open it to know what it said, but I did.

Due to ice, we have cancelled school today....more snow is expected....

"Uh, guys, school is cancelled. You don't have to go...uh, I'm really, uh, sorry...."

If looks could kill, I would so have been dead right then.