My friend Carol’s son is in Jack’s class.  Fifth grade.  Once every two weeks someone forgets their spelling words but it’s not me or Carol.  Yet,  Carol and I end up trading spelling words.  Tonight, Carol and Jen came up with their own collection of spelling words.    They are as follows:

1. Restalyn

2. Recession

3. Mediation

4. Xanax (excellent use of x’s)

5. Boarding school

6. Pilates

7. Low Fat Dry Cappuccino

8. Crows-feet (see 1. restalyn)

8. Saddlebags

9. Arthritis

10. Alcoholic

And for extra credit, a whole sentence:  My god, is this really my life and how did I get here?

And just briefly, let’s discuss middle aged mothers and their instruments.  Yes, the kids have reached that happy time in life when they take music lessons in school and rent expensive instruments that come in hard, unattractive black cases that double the instruments size and are almost universally too large for any child to carry, unless you happen to have a child built like Hagrid.  Jack, for instance, has chosen the Baritone Horn for his instrument this year.  The Baritone horn is roughly the size of a Smart car and essentially impossible for any skinny fifth grade boy to carry more than eight steps, even with help from friends.  It has, therefore,  just because I can actually lift it, become a version of my purse without any room for lipstick, cash or maxi pads.  People must see me and say “Oh, there goes Jen with her new fashionable Smart car purse…oh, wait, I think it’s her Baritone.”  Just me and my baritone.  An attractive, hot kind of MILF like instrument, isn’t it?  I’m sure all of those dads lingering at pick up spot me and begin to fantasize about Baritione playing woman.  I’ve tried playing it.  Yes, it involves a lot of blowing but we all know that particular act was misnamed.   I console myself with the fact that my friend Nerissa’s purse seems to currently be a cello.  And no one is fantasizing about Yo Yo Ma.

A quick tale.  Last week my six year old woke up, fully expecting a snow day.  The overly excited weather people had been doing their usual meteorological frothing about the storm headed our way.  When it, not surprisingly, didn’t pan out and little Luke,at six thirty am,  raised his head from his bed and asked “Mom, do we have school?”, he was crushed by the answer “yes.”  Luke pulled his sheets over his head and settled into a still little sad ball of boy. Two seconds later he popped his head back up, looked at me very seriously and said “Shoot, Mom, I won’t be able to attend school today.   I do believe I broke my leg during the night.”

Visions of Harvard dance from my head…..