Credit to tigress1 of stock.xchng

Well it’s that time of year. Living in a house with six other people who are also in the midst of their educations, it is inevitable: those days, summer waning, when people run about gathering uniforms and making lists, getting classes, making late night runs to Ross to get gym shorts, arguing about who has the worst teachers, frantically running about like Scarlett O’Hara – “The Yankees are coming! The Yankees are coming!”….”School is starting! School is starting!”

Did we get everything on those grade school supply lists? Is the ninth grader in the right language class? Do we have enough fruit for lunches? The editor is starting a new job, and has to be gone every day going to what sound like pretty boring meetings, then rushing to set up her classroom. Mr. Cassella doesn’t start for a week or so, but you can tell he’s sorry the summer is over. Heck, we all are. The boys realize all too late that today is their last day of freedom – but is it? They are doing summer essays, digging up sports equipment, and generally going through a wringing of hands.

Meanwhile, I am deciding where to live, the youngest children’s ride fell through and we need to choose a school for them to go to from which they may be picked up easily, and the oldest of the family, here for a few weeks before starting graduate school, is depressed because she doesn’t start school for a month.

It never ends. School lists, books, supplies, uniforms. So much money to be spent! Ross, Wal Mart, Famous Footwear, Office Max, calling Grandma to get the few things we couldn’t find…Everyone needs shoes (that’s about 7 pairs…), notebooks (we’re talking dozens at that point), and thinks they need all kinds of other things. The ninth grader tries to help – “I don’t need a new graphing calculator at least!”

Meanwhile, I am on my own frantic search – to get a hold of the head of the Honors program at TCU so I can get my classes. It’s Friday afternoon. Classes start Monday. I sit in the office, waiting for the receptionist to come back from lunch so she can introduce me. A guy walks in, chats with the woman I need to see for twenty minutes. I start to get restless. I cough. I move. I’m here! Take care of me! This is urgent, I need classes! Finally, I am rescued. Introduced. “This poor girl has been calling the office every day this week, can you see her about her schedule?” The director looks nervous, thinks, then starts talking fast. We get things done – at the end, she apologizes for the rush, for my wait. “It’s been so crazy with meetings and everything before school starts.” I look her in the eye. “I am one of 6 children. My mother is starting to teach at a new school. My stepfather is returning to UNT. Everyone starts school this week. Trust me, I understand.”