WeaselMomma's School of Creative Parenting

It's Finally June. The school year is almost over. Yet, I still find myself fighting the same battles that started in September.

Even after numerous reminders before we rush to the car in the mornings of "do you have all of your stuff?" or "don't forget to bring your gym shoes/lunch/folder/etc.", I still get regular phone calls from school. "Mom, I left my (fill in your own blank) on the dining room table (or in my room), I need you to bring it.

For a while I would bring it. I would let Weasel de jour know my displeasure and move on with the rest of the day. This did not seem to work as a deterrent ~whouda thunk it? I moved on to refusing to bring whatever the forgotten item was. Though sometimes I would feel compelled to bring the forgotten item, for the teacher's sake. It's pretty hard to teach math when the student doesn't have the book to work from.

About a month ago, when bringing a missing item to the classroom, I warned Boy Weasel "The next time I have to bring something, I'm going to bring it in wearing curlers and a house dress". I don't even own curlers or a house dress. He must have taken me somewhat seriously, because it bought me about a month.

This past Friday, shortly after returning home from dropping off at school, the phone rings. It's Boy Weasel of course. "Mom, I left my report on the counter. I need you to bring it right away". My first thought was No, I'm not going to bring it. Quickly, my mind switched gears and I replied that I would be there shortly.

I hung up the phone and walked up stairs. Rummaging through my closet I pulled out an old fleece robe. I walked into my bathroom and put my hair into pigtails. I grabbed my car keys, the forgotten report and headed for school.

The wonderful women in the front office were in stitches and requested a picture.I signed in and made a bee-line to Boy's classroom. Upon entering, his teacher's eyes popped out of her head as she fought to keep a straight face and maintain control of the classroom. All heads in the room turned quickly to see who had come in, including Boy Weasel. He had a nervous, shock filled smile. I walked to his desk and gave him his report. "Mom, why are you dressed like that?". "Because I warned you that I would".

I made him stand up so that his teacher could take a picture.The girls in the back of the room started to snicker. I waved and said "Hi, I'm Boy Weasel's Mom!" and gave my son a kiss on the head. He would have crawled under the floorboards if he could have. As I was leaving the classroom, I overheard one of the boys say "Don't worry Boy Weasel, you'll live this down someday".

Hopefully he will live it down someday, but more importantly, I don't think he will be leaving the house without everything he needs anymore.