![]() The students aren’t allowed to come along, but no problem it’s super easy to find a responsible adult who is free at 2:00 p.m. This afternoon, there’s a parent-teacher conference. on Saturday for some baking, so I agree to bring six dozen kale triceratops brownies. (Shame on me for not reading the twelve-page weekly emails more carefully.) Luckily, my schedule is wide open at 3:00 a.m. ![]() I chat with the room mom while we wait for our kids, and she persuades me to help with the school bake sale this weekend that I didn’t know was happening. ![]() Today is a regular Tuesday in the middle of a normal workweek, so of course, it’s early school dismissal. As a working parent, I’ve learned to be super-efficient with my time, so I also manage to squeeze in a seven-hour spinal cord surgery during the thirty minutes I have before school pick-up. With the summer camp spot secured, I return to my patient with the bleeding brain, who has been kind enough not to code blue during my absence. Or worse, Ash will be stuck doing the inferior leaf collage crafts instead of the coveted Stegosaurus hand-painting crafts, and I will have ruined the magic of childhood for him. If I do not sign up by 10:02, all the spots will be taken and I will have no childcare that week. Registration for the preschool’s summer camp (which takes place eight months from now) opens at 10:00 a.m. I abruptly leave in the middle of an exam for a patient with intracerebral hemorrhaging, as I have something much more important to attend to. The school is also closed for all federal and state holidays, Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur, Diwali, Lunar New Year, Eid al-Fitr, and seven staff-learning Wednesdays.Īt 9:58 a.m., my phone alarm rings. School holidays are the three months of summer, plus a week each on Indigenous People’s Day, Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year, Presidents’ Day, and Easter. I am a freelance neurosurgeon, the only job that is both well-paying enough to afford $30,000 in tuition and flexible enough to deal with all the school holidays. On my way in, I pass the volunteer sign-up sheet for next week’s book fair and put myself down for every open timeslot.Īfter five minutes of reading to my son’s class, I’m off to work. I twiddle my thumbs in the school parking lot for thirty-five minutes before heading inside to hand out muffins. ![]() The school day starts at 8:45, but snack and story time is not until 9:20, which is the perfect amount of time to not be able to go anywhere or get anything else done. He transitions through every part of the morning routine without complaint or delay, and we arrive at school precisely in the middle of the allotted five-minute drop-off window. He is in a great mood after an uninterrupted twelve-hour slumber, eager for another day of joyful learning. While the muffins are baking, Ash wakes up. My snack will be simultaneously nutritious, allergen-free, and appealing to three-year-olds-something like dinosaur-shaped muffins that taste like rainbows but are made of steamed arugula. The school does not allow nuts, dairy, eggs, sugar, or any pro-oxidant fruit. Today, it’s my turn to bring a snack and read a story for my son Ash’s preschool class. ![]()
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