FEATURED ARTISTS

I wrote a few weeks ago how excited I am to be our five-year-old nephew’s after-school destination.  That I would hopefully be able to provide Dylan with the same kinds of memories that, forty years later, I still treasure from my post-school days at Gran’s house. 

I also wrote that I’m no Gran.  This pattern continues.

Together we do his homework, we play cards (he still cheats), we have treasure hunts, we swim, we play baseball. One day, he was inspired by the Curious George story we were reading and so we made boats, walked to a near-by pond and sailed them.

It’s a Christopher Robin existence for him.  After my daily four I-didn’t-read-the-fine-print hours are up, I’m an exhausted Eeyore in need of a very large drink.

I went to my mom for comfort and an explanation.  She was absolutely no help.

Me:  How the hell did Gran do this with us every single day?
Mom: (I could hear the eye-roll over the phone)  Meg, she only had you kids for less than an hour after school and you girls had each other so you pretty much entertained yourselves.
Me:  That can’t be right.  I remember we had hot cocoa, and we made up plays that were at least three acts long and played dress-up in her attic for hours.
Mom:  It wasn’t hours, it was 30 minutes and after the hot cocoa and maybe one game of cards, she’d send you and your sisters off to play. Gran didn’t go into the attic.  Half the time I’d come over early and we’d have a drink in the kitchen before you girls even knew I was there. 

My after-school childhood memories have clearly blurred over the years since I really thought I remembered Gran acting in our plays and dressing up with us.

I also remember Mom being nicer. 

One accurate memory I do have, (confirmed by my siblings) was that we never had homework in Kindergarten. 

Dylan and his classmates have homework every single night except for Fridays, (the teachers apparently are as protective of their weekend happy hours as the rest of us, and definitely need it more.…I’ve met Dylan’s class). 

The outline states it should take them no more than twenty minutes.  The outline lied.  Twice I’ve been stumped by assignments.  The first time Dylan figured it out and explained it to me (in my defense I was simultaneously doing M:M Music homework and trying to decide if drinking while in charge of a child is grounds for arrest or just a warning ticket).

The second indecipherable assignment we encountered we both gave up on after 5 minutes.  So did his parents which made me feel better.

Truth be told, I like it when he has homework.  I get to watch him figure things out, see what a sponge he is, how delighted he is when he solves a problem and I’m spared at least an hour of hide-n-seek and “Curious George Goes to The Hospital” for the 200^th time. 

He eats that f#@%king puzzle piece every time, and every time Dylan just can’t believe it.  I try, but by the end of the day I’m too tired to feign concern anymore. 

Hour 1:
Well, Dylan I guess he ate the puzzle piece because he was…….. CURIOUS! (we both yell enthusiastically together while simultaneously fist bumping to my awesome sound effects). 

Hour 2:
I don’t know why Betsy (George’s hospital roommate) is sick Dylan.  She probably didn’t eat her vegetables and got rickets. 

Hour 3:
Cuz he was an idiot and let go of the fire escape, of course he broke his leg.  He got what he deserved. 

Hour 4: (after he returns from a bathroom break wanting more Curious George)
I can’t read to you anymore.  All the books are trapped under the bed with scary monsters.  

I’ve started setting money aside to help with Dylan’s future therapy bill and my present wine bill.