When You’re Offered a Volunteer Opportunity

One day this past week, an email popped into my inbox. The email was from someone I respect, asking if I was interested in joining the board of an organization I also respect.

I was surprised.

Flattered.

Conflicted.

This past week, Stanton was out of town for work Monday through Thursday. He arrived back home just in time for Anna’s elementary-school science fair on Thursday evening. On Wednesday evening, Grace played her cello in a district-wide music performance…which began minutes after Anna’s travel-soccer-team practice ended.

I read this email, then, in the midst of a particularly busy week. The whole week, I dashed from one commitment to the next: school drop-off—work—school pickup—one kid’s after-school activity—the other kid’s after-school activity.

And dentist appointments. The girls also had dentist appointments on Thursday, wedged in between work/school and Anna’s science fair.

And dentist appointments.

I thought about what it would be like, friends, to say yes to this volunteer opportunity.

As many of you know, I already serve on the board of the PTA for Anna’s school. What I most enjoy about this board position is the community-building I get to do.

I love going to the school events the PTA plans—like the science fair this past week, and an ice-skating party and Scholastic book fair a few weeks before that—and welcoming everyone and chatting, making students and their families feel part of the school community. I get a lot of joy and energy from that.

And before the events happen—before the community-building takes place—I handle the communications piece, of spreading the word via mass email, social media and face-to-face conversations. I put what I’ve learned professionally (and what I believe in, personally) into my volunteer-based communications and community-building efforts.

“You must be doing a good job on the school PTA, if people are reaching out about other positions,” a friend said to me.

“But,” another friend wondered, “you don’t hate yourself that much, do you? To keep volunteering for things?”

I began laughing so hard, friends, I almost fell over. It was a valid question, after all.

Did I hate myself that much?

😉

I thought about this potential volunteer opportunity. Another board position, related to community-building and communications. A chance to get more involved in my community.

It probably could work. I probably could do it.

But…ultimately, I didn’t want to add “one more thing” to my life…at least, not right now.

For the first time in a long time, I have a work schedule that is pretty much exactly what I need, and want. I’m so grateful for that, as many of you know.

I so appreciate being able to “be there” when the girls get home from school, and I even appreciate driving them all over creation after school: music performances, soccer practices, science fairs, everything and anything. Even though all that stuff can be exhausting, especially when Stanton isn’t able to pitch in…I actually love it—all of it.

I really missed that for the two and a half years I worked so many evenings and weekends at the library.

Besides the girls (and my husband, too, of course 😉 ), I really appreciate having time at the end of the day for the other important relationships in my life: family members, friends, neighbors who are also friends. When my brothers and sister FaceTime me, or my mom or mother-in-law calls, or my neighbor texts to invite me across the street to get together…I love all of that too.

Also…I need to get a haircut, and I haven’t made an appointment yet. My car is due for its yearly state inspection—that’s another must-do I need to set up. Yesterday was the first day of spring, officially, which means I need to start shaving my legs a little more regularly again because, you know, fewer leggings, more dresses.

So yes, friends…I have unfinished personal business going on too.

As a gift to myself, I had to decline this additional volunteer opportunity, as flattered as I was by it. “Thank you so much for thinking of me, but unfortunately, I can’t add another commitment to my schedule right now,” I emailed the person back. Thankfully, they understood.

Maybe a year or two down the road, I’ll feel as though I can tackle another volunteer opportunity.

As of this moment, though…the only extra thing I’m adding to my to-do list is “shave legs.”

Photo credit: Pixabay

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Like what you just read? Then check out Melissa Leddy’s e-books on Amazon.com. Short fiction and creative nonfiction writing that’s engaging, witty and from the heart.

The Leddys Are in the Wrong Location

On Saturday morning, Stanton pulled into the mostly empty parking lot of the Afrim’s Sports Park in Colonie. It was 7:29 a.m., and our 9-year-old daughter, Anna, was playing in a Presidents’ Day weekend soccer tournament that began at 8 a.m.

“Please be there by 7:30,” Anna’s soccer coach had told the team.

Like anyone else, I’d rather not “be” anywhere by 7:30 on a Saturday morning. Except, of course, my breakfast-nook table, slowly enjoying several cups of coffee.

But I love watching Anna play soccer (and her older sister, Grace, play lacrosse), and cheering them on. So on Saturday, when Stanton nudged me awake around 6:15, I got moving much faster than usual for a weekend morning.

The four of us left our house a little after 7. Stanton punched “Afrim’s” into his car’s navigation system, and an address for NYSUT Drive in Latham popped up.

“Stan, that’s wrong,” I said. I hadn’t yet sipped any of the coffee from the travel mug in my hands, so no caffeine was tempering my just-woke-up personality. “Last night you said we have to go to the Afrim’s in Colonie.” (There are five Afrim’s sports facilities in New York’s Capital Region.)

Stanton grunted. “I know, I know. I was just about to change the address.” He began clicking on the navigation system.

“Are we going to the right place?” Anna asked from the backseat.

“Now we are,” I replied. “Don’t worry, honey: Mom made sure.”

“Mel, I was going to…”

“Honey, I was just kidding.”

“Ha, ha.” Stanton began driving to the Colonie Afrim’s; I began drinking my coffee.

Like anyone else, I’d rather not “be” anywhere by 7:30 on a Saturday morning.

So it was 7:30 a.m., and Stanton, the girls and I walked into the Colonie Afrim’s. Earlier, Stanton had printed out the flyer for the Presidents’ Day tournament, and now he looked at it. “Anna’s first game is on Field 2,” he said.

The four of us made our way to Field 2, one of several indoor fields in the facility. Anna’s team color is orange; there were no other orange jerseys on Field 2.

“Would you look at that,” Stanton said, smiling with self-satisfaction. “The Leddys are the first to arrive.”

Huh. I glanced at my phone. It was now 7:34 a.m.

It felt weird to me that we were the only people on Field 2. Not even the coach was here yet…?

“When you tell the Leddys to be somewhere by a certain time,” Stanton continued, “the Leddys will be there.”

By this point, I had consumed about one-quarter of the coffee in my 20-ounce travel mug. I had become, consequently, a normal human being. “Stan,” I said gently, “is it possible we’re at the wrong Afrim’s?”

Stanton paused.

Behind us, Grace and Anna were kicking Anna’s soccer ball around. Otherwise, Field 2 remained empty—empty of other orange jerseys, empty of the opposing team, empty of spectators and refs and anyone.

“Uh…” Stanton frowned. “I’ll be right back.”

I watched as he jogged across Field 2, through the revolving doors to the lobby of the facility.

Less than a minute later, Stanton reappeared through the revolving doors, this time in a sprint back to the girls and me. “We have to go,” he said.

I raised my eyebrows; Stanton nodded. “We’re at the wrong Afrim’s,” he confirmed.

Mm-hmm—looking at empty Field 2, that made more sense to me than “The Leddys are the first to arrive.”

The Leddys were, in fact, in the wrong location.

The soccer tournament was actually happening at the Afrim’s location in Albany, which was only 3.2 miles away. We were really close—but still, Anna would be arriving minutes before the first game started.

“Agh,” Stanton said, driving toward the Albany Afrim’s.

I could tell Anna was concerned too. “Stan, Annie, this is 9-year-old soccer,” I pointed out. “It’s OK.”

“You know,” Stanton said, “I checked the message in the sports app last night. It said the Colonie Afrim’s. But…”

“But what?” Anna wondered.

Stanton grunted. “I just checked the sports app a few minutes ago, and Brittany posted a new message super early this morning—which I saw just now—that had the updated location, Albany Afrim’s. It would be nice to have all the information at the same time, you know?”

“No, no, no.” I held up my hands. “No, we cannot blame Brittany that we went to the wrong Afrim’s this morning.”

“Why not?” Grace asked.

I sighed. As many of you know, I’m the (volunteer) secretary for Anna’s elementary school PTA. Thus, I empathize with parent volunteers, many of whom find themselves in these roles because nobody else could (or would) lend a hand.

I explained to my family that Brittany did the best she could to communicate with other parents through the sports app. At some point, the other parents needed to turn on the app notifications so that they would see when Brittany posted a new message. They needed to check their new messages, and beyond that, read the messages.

“I should have checked the app for any new messages once more before we left,” Stanton acknowledged.

“But we’re almost to the right Afrim’s,” I said. “No big deal.”

Maybe the Leddys don’t always arrive at the correct location.

Maybe Melissa Leddy isn’t a normal human being until she drinks one-quarter of the coffee in her 20-ounce travel mug.

But the Leddys do not blame the parent volunteers of their children’s sports teams or schools.

Stanton pulled up to the entrance of the Albany Afrim’s. It was almost 8 a.m., and of course, the parking lot was packed.

I swiveled in the passenger seat to face my older daughter. “Please take Anna inside,” I told Grace. “Find her team—look for the orange jerseys—and Dad and I will be there in a few minutes.”

Grace nodded. “Got it.”

I wished Anna good luck, and watched as the girls dashed inside.

Stanton found a parking spot. We headed inside, in search of orange jerseys.

As of 8:02 a.m., all four Leddys had arrived at the right location.

Photo credit: Pixabay

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Like what you just read? Then check out Melissa Leddy’s e-books on Amazon.com. Short fiction and creative nonfiction writing that’s engaging, witty and from the heart.

You’re 0% There

It was 12 noon at the library where I work. Our library often has a lunch rush, as patrons pop in to pick up their requested books and other items during their lunch break.

On this particular day, 12 noon was when the 2024/2025 online registration opened for my younger daughter’s before-school child-care program. We were only midway through the current school year (it was January, after all), but I needed to sign Anna up for the fall.

At that moment, I was working at the circulation desk, near the front doors of the library. I could get up and go to my desk in the staff workroom, out of public view…but the online registration would only take a minute, right?

On my computer, I minimized the screen for the library’s workflow system, and opened up a new tab with the website for the child-care program. I scrolled down, found the button for the 2024/2025 registration. Clicked the button, began filling out the form.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw an older gentleman carrying a stack of large-print Clive Cussler novels begin to approach me. I glanced to my left, where my co-worker (who knew I needed a minute) kindly nodded, then waved the patron over to her.

Quickly, I re-checked all the info I had entered on Anna’s registration form. Everything looked accurate. Whew.

At the bottom of the form was a captcha fill-in-the-blank. “Please verify you are not a robot,” the captcha instructed.

Dutifully, I typed the motley crew of characters into the box. Made sure I got all the letters uppercase and lowercase where needed. Squinted hard to confirm that the the vertical line was indeed a lowercase “l” and not the number “1.”

Finally clicked “Submit.”

Instead of submitting, a new captcha appeared on the screen, with the same message: “Please verify you are not a robot.”

What? I just did that!

“Hey, Melissa.” Another co-worker joined us at the circulation desk, to assist with the lunch rush.

I cringe-smiled. “Hey, David. I’m so sorry, I just need to finish something for one of my kids…”

“Oh, sure, sure.” And as another patron approached, this time wanting to check out a children’s museum pass and American Girl Doll, David helped her at the computer next to mine.

Ugh. I prided myself on being a co-worker others could count on. I hastened to type in the new captcha: “HxChX.” I double-checked, even triple-checked the combination of uppercase and lowercase letters…clicked “submit,” again.

“ERROR,” the screen responded.

I groaned.

This was taking a lot longer than I’d thought, and I hadn’t even registered Anna for the child-care program yet…which I very much needed to do.

“I’ll be right back, David,” I said, dashing to the staff workroom. There I found Mandy, one of the kindest, most patient and most technologically savvy people I know. “Help!”

Together, Mandy and I tried to submit the registration through my phone. At the end of the phone-based registration, a new direction appeared: “Select all the boxes with school buses.”

Ah, another mode of automated-security-measure, photo-based fun.

Select, select, select. I definitely got all the school buses; Mandy nodded her agreement. Submit.

“Please verify you are not a robot,” my phone replied, presenting me with my third or fourth captcha in 30 minutes.

I almost banged my head on Mandy’s desk. “I am not a robot!”

Ah, another mode of automated-security-measure, photo-based fun.

Ultimately, I did succeed at registering Anna for the before-school child-care program. It took a few emails, one frantic phone call and a final stab at the online registration form, but in the end…success.

Technical difficulties, though. They’re never gone for long, amirite? I ran into another e-issue yesterday, and Anna, who’s 9, helped me figure it out.

As you may remember, friends, I’m the secretary of Anna’s elementary school PTA. (Trust me, I’m not bragging about this—simply stating a fact. 😉 )

Yesterday, my fellow PTA board members asked me to share a flyer via our mass email platform, plus community Facebook page. Of course, I told them.

I couldn’t upload this flyer to either Mailchimp or Facebook, however.

Anna saw me struggling. “When was the last time you restarted your computer, Mom?”

“Umm…” I rarely turn off my computer, let alone restart it.

“Restart your computer, Mom,” Anna suggested. “That always works for me.”

As I restarted my computer, a pop-up message alerted me: “Urgent updates needed. Updating now.”

Anna made herself comfortable on my lap. “Urgent updates needed,” she read aloud. “Good thing you’re doing this, Mom.”

I sighed. “Yep.”

Anna pointed to the screen. “Look, Mom. You’re 0% there.” She tilted her head up, looked at me. “It’s probably going to take a while to get all the way up to 100% updated.”

You’re 0% there… Going to take a while… Mm-hmm, that sounded about right.

These past few weeks have been some of my busiest as PTA secretary. Our PTA has hosted a variety of events, from a Scholastic Book Fair to Math and Science Night to Popcorn Friday, and is planning for a bunch more come spring: a science fair, Bike & Roll to School Day, an art-based fundraiser/bake sale.

We need volunteers to help staff all these events, as you probably can imagine. Thus, I emailed out multiple SignUpGenius links, inviting/asking/begging fellow parents to sign up for a one- or two-hour time slot.

Every now and then, I checked the SignUpGenius links. “Slots still available,” all the links told me.

Sigh. What kind of de facto volunteer coordinator would I be if I didn’t show up myself?

I clicked a “Sign Up” book fair slot. Entered my name.

I clicked a “Sign Up” Math and Science Night slot. Entered my name, again. Ooh, hold up…that slot is to run Math and Science Night. Agh. I’m not the best math and science person, so…

In the optional comment box, I added this note: “My older daughter (Grace, 6th grade) will help me run this!”

I do love both my daughters’ schools, and I do want to support them (the schools, and the girls). I genuinely loved being able to volunteer with the book fair, and Math and Science Night.

Afterward, I did feel a little worn down, though.

This past weekend, for the first time in many weekends, Stanton, the girls and I had nothing scheduled. Nothing we had to do.

I so appreciated sleeping in on both Saturday and Sunday mornings. Both mornings, Stanton made me scrambled eggs and bacon.

Stanton’s known me a very long time now, and he knows this is true: All he needs to do to make me happy is feed me. That is it, friends. Just feed me (and let me sleep in).

After eating well, and sleeping in, I’m beginning to feel recharged.

I’m not quite up to 100 percent, but I’m definitely higher than 0.

Photo credit: Pixabay

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Like what you just read? Then check out Melissa Leddy’s e-books on Amazon.com. Short fiction and creative nonfiction writing that’s engaging, witty and from the heart.

You’re On the Wrong Input, Mom

Yesterday evening, I brought my younger daughter to her indoor soccer practice.

I did this after picking up my older daughter and her best friend from their after-school Odyssey of the Mind program, and then dropping the best friend off at her house. Beforehand, I’d heated up some leftover pasta and put it into a take-along container for Grace, because Grace and I would be waiting at the sports complex until Anna’s soccer practice wrapped up at 6:45 p.m.

Thursday is usually a hectic day, but yesterday was particularly hectic because Stanton had a work event until 8 p.m. or so, and I needed to log into a 7 p.m. virtual meeting (school-related).

I had a small but manageable window of 15 minutes to get the girls and me from the sports complex back home for my 7 p.m. meeting.

At 6:30 p.m., I got up from the table where Grace and I had been hanging out for the past hour (Grace doing homework, myself wasting time on TMZ and E! News 😉 ). Nature called.

I strode over to the women’s restroom. A white sign had been Scotch-taped to the door.

The sign read: “Bathroom closed due to flooding. Please use Porta Potties outside.”

What?!

I checked the men’s restroom. The same sign had been Scotch-taped to that door too.

“Please use Porta Potties outside.” Um, it’s nighttime, and it’s January. True, it’s not snowing, just raining (hence the restroom flooding, I imagined)…but it’s still cold out there, sports complex manager.

Cold and dark, might I add.

Please use Porta Potties outside? I don’t think so.

Please use Porta Potties outside? Not an option, friends. Not an option.

Um, it’s nighttime, and it’s January.

As I went about my day today (Friday), I couldn’t help thinking that the “Please use Porta Potties outside” sign pretty much perfectly epitomizes this past week for me. So much has been happening, and I’m so thankful it’s the weekend.

One of my colleagues at the library had asked me to work this past Saturday for her (and she’ll work an upcoming Saturday for me). Switching Saturday shifts can be tricky for me, because of the girls’ activities, but this woman has been so kind to me, so of course I told her yes.

“Mom,” the girls said to me. “You don’t have to say yes if you don’t want to.”

“Girls,” I said back. If someone’s been a friend to you, you should be a friend back when they need you. This is what I believe, anyway.

The weekend was a bit of a blur. Work on Saturday, cheering Grace on at her last “Shrek” performance on Sunday, getting ready for the week ahead.

I had ordered some new clothes for myself, online of course. On Wednesday morning after showering, at approximately 6:30, I pulled on a pair of my new pants, looked at myself in the mirror and—like 40-something women everywhere who buy a pair of pants online—said out loud, “Do these look OK?”

I couldn’t decide.

Anna told me they seemed shiny. Translation: She didn’t like them.

Grace raised her eyebrows but had no comment, then wondered if I could make her lunch.

Stanton was out of town for work.

Agh. I would just wear the new pants.

Once I got to work, I confided in two of my female co-workers that I wasn’t sure about my new pants.

“You look fine, Melissa,” they assured me.

Although today (Friday), I wore a different pair of new pants to work, which I also felt unsure about, and another female co-worker said, “You look like a genie!”

(Thanks, Allison! 😉 )

On one of the evenings Stanton wasn’t home this week, all I wanted to do after the girls had gone to bed was sit on the couch with some junk food and watch TV. That was all, friends.

I turned on the TV. “No signal,” the screen said.

I clicked various buttons on the remote control(s).

Nothing worked.

I briefly considered waking up Grace, who’s her father’s daughter when it comes to problem solving.

No, that wouldn’t be kind.

Agh.

In the morning, I told the girls what had happened.

“You were probably on the wrong input, Mom,” Grace said.

“No,” I replied. “I tried all the inputs. Nothing worked.”

Anna shook her head, skeptical. “I don’t know, Mom,” she said. “I think you were on the wrong input too.”

You know what, friends? Maybe I was. For all I know, I was on the wrong input.

Sometimes you are, I guess.

(TGIF!)

❤

Photo credit: Pixabay

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Like what you just read? Then check out Melissa Leddy’s e-books on Amazon.com. Short fiction and creative nonfiction writing that’s engaging, witty and from the heart.

Things You Do When Your Kids Aren’t Home

On Sunday afternoon, I walked into the grocery store. Set my tote bag in the cart. Pulled my shopping list out. And immediately felt…weird.

Weird? Why, you might ask?

Well, friends, the reason I felt weird at Market 32 was because I was…alone. Without my usual Sunday-afternoon shopping companions, aka my daughters/sidekicks, Grace and Anna.

The day before, as I was working at the library, Stanton drove our kiddos to my mom and dad’s house near Scranton, Pa. Stanton stayed for lunch, then drove the three hours back to our home in upstate New York. The girls would be with their Nona and Pop for one of their last weeks of summer vacation, while Stanton and I would be unusually kid-free.

Here I was, then, at the front of the grocery store, and nobody was asking me if they could pick out donuts from the grab-and-go display case to the right. Nobody was pulling me away from the display of rotisserie chickens (“Aaagggh, rotisserie chicken! Sooo boring!”), or sneaking glitter spiral hair ties from the personal-care aisle into the cart.

Despite the tons of people (it was a Sunday afternoon, after all), everything around me felt quiet.

I missed those little monsters.

😉

Now it’s Friday, and Stanton and I will be heading out tomorrow to pick up the girls. I missed them, and at the same time, I appreciated the time to do some things I wouldn’t have been able to do otherwise.

What do you do when your kids aren’t home? Well, this is what I did…

…or sneaking glitter spiral hair ties from the personal-care aisle into the cart.

On Saturday evening, for the first time in a while, Stanton and I went out for dinner. I had worked from 10 a.m. to 5 p.m., and Stanton had driven six hours round trip…a date night sounded perfect.

“Where do you want to go?” Stanton asked. “Sawa Sushi? Swifty’s?

These are two of our favorite local restaurants. I love them both, but that night, I leaned toward Sawa. It has a quiet, low-key vibe while Swifty’s is…exactly the opposite. (Lots of fun, and exactly the opposite!)

It was so nice to enjoy a relaxed dinner together.

The next day, as you already know, I went grocery shopping solo, and then for dinner that evening, I made a new recipe: Baked Salmon with Grapefruit Salad, from my beloved “Modern Proper” cookbook (page 189). This recipe is fantastic (the homemade honey mustard vinaigrette especially so!), and I’ll definitely make it again.

Earlier that day, a friend texted and asked if the girls and I would like to meet up with her and her kiddos at the town pool. I gave her a call and shared (somewhat deliriously happily, I must admit! 😉 ) that for the coming week, due to “Pop and Nona summer camp,” I would be MIA from all my usual summertime-with-kids haunts: the town pool, any and all playgrounds, the ice-cream counter at Stewart’s.

“Enjoy!” my dear friend said.

And I did, friends. I really did. Although it wasn’t all fun and games…

Our next-door neighbor asked Stanton and me if we’d be willing to trim a tree of ours that was impeding upon their shed. Of course, we said.

“You know what,” Stanton said. “That tree’s been bothering me for years. I’m just going to chainsaw the whole thing down.”

Agh.

I cringe whenever my husband of 15 years, and father of my children, expresses his desire to use a chainsaw. (I’ve written about this previously, as you may remember!) I’m concerned about all my loved ones and their personal safety around power tools.

But Stanton assured me—assured me—he’d be careful, everything would be A-OK.

Sigh. OK, fine. Fine.

We’re lucky to have a very kind neighbor, known as “Tim” in my blog posts, who let Stanton borrow his chainsaw. Around 6 p.m. on Monday, Stanton began chainsaw-ing the pesky tree down…only to find that it was not one tree, but three small trees tangled together.

Three small trees…tangled together.

Two hours later, as the sun was setting, Stanton finally clicked the chainsaw off.

I joined him outside. Sweat soaked his T-shirt, and shavings of tree bark littered his hair. “Honey?”

Stanton gestured to the ground, where the tree(s) lay. “Done!”

The whole space really looked so much better, and our neighbor’s shed was no longer in danger of collapsing under the weight of the tree branches. “Honestly, Stan, this is amazing,” I admitted. “Really good job.”

I did notice that a section of our white picket fence alongside one of the now-downed trees appeared, well, broken, but…nothing to worry about at the moment, I was sure.

“I have to say, though, Mel.” Stanton raised his eyebrows. “It was harder than I thought.”

I scanned the ground again. Chainsaw-upped trees…and branches…were everywhere.

Yep. Yep, I could definitely see that.

(Thank you so much again, Tim, for letting us borrow your chainsaw!)

…I’m just going to chainsaw the whole thing down.”

The next day, before I went to work, I cleaned out Anna’s closet. My younger child is a bit of a pack rat. A very cute one, but a pack rate nonetheless.

This week, I also worked additional shifts at the library, and caught up on some freelance work, and even a PTA project for the upcoming school year.

Wow, I thought. I’m getting so much done. Fall 2023, here I come!

Then mid-week, I was chatting with Stanton’s mom. “Go to your favorite place,” Charlotte said, “and get your favorite thing.”

Go to your favorite place, and get your favorite thing.

I love this, friends. I love this.

Yesterday, I took my mother-in-law’s advice, and did just that. I happened to be near a great local bagel shop, and got a BLT along with the house-blend coffee.

Heaven.

The last time I had been there had been with the girls. The last time I’d been lots of places, in fact, had been with the girls.

This week has been refreshing, productive…and I’m excited to wrap it up tomorrow by seeing Grace and Anna.

Even if they do happen to sneak some glitter spiral hair ties into the shopping cart on Sunday.

Photo credit: Pixabay

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Like what you just read? Then check out Melissa Leddy’s e-books on Amazon.com. Short fiction and creative nonfiction writing that’s engaging, witty and from the heart.

Hey, Mom, Do You Have Your Credit Card? And Other Summer 2023 Questions

On a recent summer afternoon, I drove to our town pool. The July sky was blue-gray, with a band of clouds—a bit ominous, to be sure, and definitely not optimal swimming weather.

Grace and Anna Leddy, however… Let me tell you something about my daughters, friends. They love swimming at the town pool. Love it. They love jumping off the high dive, they love bumping into friends, they love snacking on their beach towels (they especially love snacking on their beach towels).

So whenever possible in summer, as long as it’s not raining, I take the girls to the town pool.

This particular day, though… Ka-boom. Ka-boooom. The unmistakable sound of thunder. The sky opened up; rain began pouring down.

The girls groaned.

I glanced in the rearview mirror. “Sorry, girls. Another time, OK?”

“What are we going to do now?” Grace wondered.

Ah, the question parents love to hear all summer long.

😉

“Hey…Mom?”

“Yes, honey?” I looked in the rearview mirror again, made eye contact with Grace.

My older daughter cringe-smiled. “Do you have your credit card?”

It was my turn to groan.

…the question parents love to hear, all summer long.

When I take the girls to the pool, I travel light. I never take my whole wallet, instead putting just my driver’s license (and sometimes my credit card, too, but not always) in a little bag in my big “pool tote bag,” which also has snacks and towels.

The main reason I leave my credit card at home? So that when my children ask me for Popsicles, french fries and cheeseburgers from the snack bar, I can say, “I have no money, girls. No money to spend on more snacks for you.”

Sometimes, though… Sometimes, I do stick my credit card in the little bag with my driver’s license, just in case.

Grace and Anna know this. Which is why, that day…

“I do have my credit card, actually,” I told Grace. “In case we had time to run an errand. Since we do have time…”

“What’s the errand?” Grace asked suspiciously.

I sighed. “There’s something I can grab at Marshalls…”

The girls squealed. “Marshalls! Yes, let’s go to Marshalls! Marshallsssss!”

Agh. “Girls! I need something. One little thing, OK? We are not going to Marshalls for you two.”

Of course, half an hour later the three of us walked out of Marshalls with the one thing I needed, plus two Life is Good trucker hats for the girls.

“I love my new hat,” Anna said, smiling as we buckled back into the car.

“Me too,” Grace said, admiring her reflection in the rain-streaked window. “This will be perfect for the beach.”

Stanton, the girls and I just returned from our family vacation. We spent a week in Newport, R.I., in a cottage steps away from the beach. This time together was the most relaxed I’ve felt in months, and I so appreciated the break (and the girls did indeed get good use out of their new hats!).

Of course…traveling with kids usually requires a bit of blood, sweat and tears, as we all know. The time away is rarely 100 percent “vacation.” For example, despite our cottage being easily walkable to the beach, the four of us still had to lug all our stuff to our preferred spot on the beach each day.

Beach chairs, boogie boards, cooler, spikeball game that needs to be assembled and disassembled with every use, beach umbrella that also needs those things…

As I like to say, though, friends, life is my cardio.

😉

Speaking of cardio… One of our family’s favorite things to do in Newport is walking the Cliff Walk every summer. The natural beauty of this historic trail, nestled against the Atlantic Ocean, is breathtaking. Some parts of the trail are easier (the paved paths) than others (the unpaved parts, where you’re literally rock climbing over boulders).

“Hey, guys,” I said to my family this past Tuesday afternoon, as we were nearing yet another unpaved section of boulders, “this has been so fun, and we’ve walked about three miles of the Cliff Walk so far. Maybe we get off here, a little early, and catch a trolley downtown for lunch?”

“No, Mom, look—more rocks up ahead!” the girls replied. “This is the fun part. Come on, Mom!”

“Yeah, let’s do this, Mel!” Stanton fist-bumped me.

I paused to catch my breath. Wiped sweat off my forehead. Gazed at the upcoming terrain, helpfully labeled “Difficult” on my pocket map.

“OK…sounds good…life is my cardio…”

“This is the fun part.”

Summer. A fun season, but tiring too. At least for me, as I’ve see-sawed from one destination to the next all June, July and August: work at the library, the girls’ various summer camps, the pool, the pool, the pool.

I recently received an email from the girls’ school district, with a message detailing “school supply lists for 2023-2024.” And I couldn’t help thinking…you know, it will be a bit of a lift to drop the girls off at school again in a few weeks.

(Please tell me I’m not the only mom who thought this when they saw that email…anyone? 😉 )

The girls were curious about their school-supply lists. “What do I need, Mom? What do I need? Can you go to Amazon right now to buy everything?”

And predictably, the question that comes up every time of year… “Do you have your credit card handy, Mom?”

Photo credit: Pixabay

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Like what you just read? Then check out Melissa Leddy’s e-books on Amazon.com. Short fiction and creative nonfiction writing that’s engaging, witty and from the heart.

The Problems That You Have When You’re Secretary of the PTA

On a sunny May afternoon, I was walking home from school pickup with my two daughters and some of our neighbors/friends. All of us sauntered along, chitchatted, the vibe as pleasant as the spring weather.

Thus, I decided to throw an idea out there.

“Hey, Tim, Evvie,” I said to my friends. (Their names are not Tim or Evvie.) “Just wanted to ask you about something for the PTA…”

“I’m not joining your Fundraising Committee,” Tim said, without turning around.

Ouch. But I laughed lightly. “Oh, it’s not about that…”

Before I move on, friends… Tim’s comment, “I’m not joining your Fundraising Committee,” beautifully illustrates two of the problems that I’ve had since becoming the accidental secretary of my children’s elementary-school PTA last year:

Problem No. 1: When you volunteer as a PTA board member, you risk losing your friends. Because your friends will worry that whenever you approach them, you’ll try to wrangle them into volunteering for the PTA too. (This is a valid concern, by the way. A valid concern.)

Problem No. 2: Things that are not yours can become…yours. For example: a Fundraising Committee.

I tried to clarify about this committee to Tim and Evvie. “I’m not in charge of the Fundraising Committee,” I said. “I’m just looking for volunteers for it—that’s what that email I sent was about.” (Hopefully more people will email me back…)

“What I wanted to ask you both about,” I continued brightly, “was Math and Science Night.”

“What’s Math and Science Night?” Tim asked.

I explained: In two weeks, the school would be hosting the third of three Math and Science Nights, this one for kindergarten and first-grade students. There would be hands-on STEM kits and experiments for parents and their children to explore together.

Tim furrowed his brow. “I didn’t see an email about that.”

Problem No. 3: It can be very difficult to impossible to communicate all the information to all the people all the time. You will, however, do your best to attempt this feat. Yet still…your friend Tim will tell you, “Never heard anything about that.”

“So, there were some emails and Facebook posts about this earlier in the year,” I told Tim, watching to see if this jogged his memory. “It was also on that three-page events handout that the PTA passed out during the welcome-back night in the fall. A lot of people throw those out, but some people magnet them to their fridges…?”

Evvie helped me out here: “I loaded all those dates into my phone.”

Wow. I looked at Evvie, impressed. I didn’t even do that. Which brings me to my next story…

It was a Thursday night, and I was working at the library.

The whole day was hectic, to start with: Stanton found out last-minute he needed to be out of town for work. I scrambled to find a babysitter for the evening, plus a friend to take Grace home from an after-school extracurricular activity. That morning, I also needed to finish a freelance editing assignment.

When I finally got to work at the library, I breathed a sigh of relief: All the logistics of the day had somehow worked out.

Then…ding. I glanced at my phone.

“Agh,” I said.

Problem No. 4: Just when you think life is under control, there’s a PTA emergency.

“Something wrong with the kids?” one of my co-workers asked. (Let’s call him Peter.) Peter knew Stanton was traveling, and the girls had a babysitter.

I shook my head. “The PTA.”

Peter raised his eyebrows.

I explained: “Tomorrow is Fashion Disaster Day, and there haven’t been any reminders about it.”

“Fashion Disaster Day,” Peter repeated, slowly. “What is that?”

I laughed. Peter is a retired military veteran, and his expression was priceless. “Like, your clothes clash. Fun for the kids, you know?”

Peter gave me a look that implied no, he didn’t know (and he raised five children, all now adults).

I told Peter I probably needed to take a minute and post a friendly reminder about Fashion Disaster Day. “This is really short notice, though,” I said, as I tapped out the post on my phone. “The night before the event…somebody’s going to be upset, with me…”

“Melissa.”

I looked at Peter.

“Don’t worry about it.”

Deep down, I knew Peter was right.

“What is that?”

At the last PTA meeting I attended, one of our kind co-presidents (who is also my friend) said we still needed someone to volunteer to lead the effort with Teacher Appreciation Week. “Any volunteers?” she asked.

Nobody said anything.

The meeting progressed. As it began wrapping up, the co-president tried again. “So, we really need someone to take care of Teacher Appreciation Week,” she said. “It doesn’t have to be a big thing. Just…will someone do this? …anyone?”

Sigh.

Problem No. 5: Out of empathy for the PTA co-president, who is also your friend, you find yourself volunteering for one…more…thing. (This is also partly how I became secretary of the PTA in the first place.)

“I’ll do it,” I said. “I’ve got Teacher Appreciation Week. I love teachers: My mom was a teacher, I have good friends who are teachers. But, folks…I really can’t make it a big thing. I can’t come to school every morning with gift baskets. I prefer not to collect a bunch of Venmo’s…”

Everyone agreed: Let’s keep Teacher Appreciation Week low-key, but full of heart. Like last year, we would do a “theme” for each day of the week. (For example, Wednesday would be “Dress Like Your Teacher Day.”)

I made a flyer. I tried to spread the word about this flyer in every way possible, so that everyone who wanted to participate in Teacher Appreciation Week knew about it: I asked the school secretary to email it to every family. I asked the principal to include a link to it in her weekly newsletter. I posted it on the school Facebook page.

For good measure, the school secretary even made paper copies of the flyer for teachers to send home with their students.

In the event that anyone had any questions, I put a note on the bottom of the flyer: “Questions? Contact Melissa Leddy,” along with my email address.

This was a…well-meaning but not-bright idea. Because…

“Mom!” Grace was laughing when I picked up her and Anna from school. “My class tried to email you today!”

I was confused. “What?”

Grace showed me a copy of the flyer I’d made. “Mrs. Bianchi passed these out, and Oliver A. saw your name and email address at the bottom. So he said he was going to email Grace’s mom with a question. And then everyone tried to email you!”

“What was Oliver A.’s question?” I wondered.

“He didn’t really have one! He just wanted to email you! But Mrs. Bianchi said, ‘Do not email Grace’s mom!'”

Problem No. 6: Your 5th-grade daughter and all her classmates will attempt to spam your inbox.

I didn’t see that one coming, friends. Didn’t see that one coming.

One of my friends recently asked me, “Are you glad you did it, being secretary of the PTA?”

Despite what you may think, based on the six problems I shared here… The answer is yes. Overall, volunteering for the PTA truly has been a meaningful experience to me, being more involved in my daughters’ day-to-day school lives and, as best as I could, serving as a source of communications and community building.

Now, do I think somebody else could have done it better? Absolutely, 100 percent yes to that too. Somebody else definitely could have been a better secretary than I’ve been.

But nobody else raised their hand, which is how my name ended up at the bottom of a Teacher Appreciation Week flyer…and Fundraising Committee call-for-volunteers email…and Math and Science Night Facebook post.

Speaking of which… Tim? Evvie? If you’re reading this, friends…I could still use your help for Math and Science Night next Friday. No pressure, but…

😉

Photo credit: Pixabay

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Like what you just read? Then check out Melissa Leddy’s e-books on Amazon.com. Short fiction and creative nonfiction writing that’s engaging, witty and from the heart.

Please Don’t Tell Me I Have to Use That Porta-Potty

Like parents of elementary-school-aged children everywhere, I spent much of this past Saturday at an outdoor sports field, cheering on my 11-year-old daughter. Grace had her first lacrosse games of the spring season.

As many of you know, I work every third weekend at my library, which means I can’t be part of one-third of my daughters’ weekend activities. For the two-thirds that I can be there for, then…I’m overjoyed to be there, friends. I simply appreciate that time so much.

So: Saturday morning. Stanton, the girls and I were going to be out at the lacrosse field from about 10:30 a.m. to 2:30 p.m. Thus, I packed us up with everything we needed (based on my past experience) for a successful weekend sports outing: snacks for everyone; water bottles for the girls (I planned to buy coffee somewhere once we get there); foldable, portable camping chairs in case there were no bleachers at the field; and, if there were bleachers, two beach towels to wipe them off, because it’s been a rainy past few days.

For good measure, Stanton also threw some umbrellas and an extra rain jacket in the car. Grace, meanwhile, loaded in her equipment bag. It appeared as though—appeared—Team Leddy was prepared and ready to roll.

The four of us arrived around the time we were supposed to. There were, in fact, bleachers, and they were, in fact, a little wet from the recent rain. No problem: I broke out the towels.

Grace began playing her first game. Stanton, Anna and I cheered her on. Then Anna got hungry.

Again, not a problem. I presented my 8-year-old with an array of snack choices: granola bar, yogurt squeezer, homemade Lunchables. Anna dug into a granola bar.

The first game wrapped up around noon; the second game started a little after 1. Grace and Anna began eating their Lunchables. I wasn’t hungry, but I could definitely go for some hot coffee.

Also…a bathroom break would be good too.

I had spotted a porta-potty nearby, but it needs to be a Grade A Emergency for Melissa Leddy to use a porta-potty. (Yes, friends, I’ll admit: I’m a bit of a diva/wimp about bathroom breaks.)

Solution: I would go to Stewart’s.

Now, if you’re one of my family members or friends from outside New York who’s reading this, you may be wondering what Stewart’s is.

Basically, Stewart’s is to upstate New York what Wawa is to the Philadelphia/mid-Atlantic region and what Buc-ee’s is to Texas. Stewart’s is a trusted, local convenience store/gas station that is, arguably, most beloved for its excellent ice cream. (I always carry my Stewart’s “Scoop Club card” with me.)

If you’re on the road in upstate New York (north of New York City) and in need of a quick pick-me-up or fill-the-gas-tank-up (or clean public restroom that is not a porta-potty), you pull into the first Stewart’s you see. New Yorkers as young as 9 months old know this.

😉

Thus… “I’ll be right back,” I told Stanton. “I’m going to find a Stewart’s. Would you like any coffee?”

No, Stanton said.

“Are you sure?”

“Please don’t bring me anything back.”

Roger that; I headed out.

I put “Stewart’s” into Google Maps on my phone, and…right away ran into trouble. I was on a high school campus I’d never been to before, and Google Maps unhelpfully directed me to “Proceed to the route.” But I couldn’t find my way out of the huge parking lot.

Somehow, I ended up at the school district bus garage. I stared at row upon row of yellow school buses.

“Proceed to the route,” Google Maps repeated for the 15th time.

Agh.

Eventually, I ran into a friend, whom I knew was returning from Stewart’s. I flagged her down.

Kindly, she rolled down her window; I pulled up alongside her and did the same. “Hey, where’s Stewart’s?” I asked.

My friend gave me directions (“I got the Maple French Toast coffee you recommended”!), which I did my best to follow…but my original Google Maps destination, still chirping from my phone, kept telling me to go the opposite way. Because there were multiple Stewart’s around me.

“Rerouting…rerouting… Proceed to the route.”

Finally, at long last, I pulled into a Stewart’s. My Stewart’s, however…did not have a public restroom. Or multiple flavors of coffee, like every other Stewart’s I’ve ever been to during my seven years of living in New York.

“Really?” I asked the front-counter clerk. I wasn’t sure which disheartened me more: the lack of a restroom, or the lowly choice of either regular or decaf only (no Maple French Toast, my favorite flavor, in sight!).

I wasn’t sure which disheartened me more: the lack of a restroom, or the lowly choice or either regular or decaf only (no Maple French Toast, my favorite flavor, in sight!).

It was after 1 p.m.; Grace’s second game would be starting soon. I paid for my regular coffee (a small, not my usual medium, because I still needed to use a restroom) and drove back to the lacrosse field.

“Mel,” Stanton greeted me. He and Anna were standing with my friend.

“You found Stewart’s!” she said. “I wasn’t sure you would.”

Of course, I completely understood why she’d think that: I had telegraphed 0 percent confidence during our impromptu parking-lot conversation half an hour earlier.

But… “Not your Stewart’s,” I half-cried. “The Stewart’s I went to didn’t have a public restroom.”

“Really?”

“Or Maple French Toast coffee!”

My friend made a sympathetic gesture. “You were right; this flavor is really good.”

One thing you should know about me, friends: I’m not a jealous person…usually.

You have a newer phone than I do? Drive a nicer car? Live in a bigger house? I don’t care about any of that stuff.

But…my favorite flavor of Stewart’s hot coffee? On a rainy Saturday that I have off from work? And a clean public restroom that isn’t a porta-potty, when I desperately need one?

Now I’m a green-eyed monster.

“Mel is legitimately jealous of you right now,” Stanton told our friend.

“True,” I confirmed.

Not long after, Anna said she needed to use the bathroom. At this point, I really did too. It had become…a Grade A emergency.

Regretfully—but bravely—Anna and I made our way over to…the porta-potty.

It had become…a Grade A emergency.

Holding my breath, I opened the porta-potty door.

Gag.

But… “We can do this, honey,” I told Anna.

I noticed there was no toilet paper. No problem: At my Stewart’s, I had stuffed a bunch of napkins in my purse.

Then I noticed there also was no soap, but a sign: “Last Cleaned in October 2022.” Huh.

“Mom?”

I closed my eyes. Shut the door. “I can’t do it,” I said, kind of to my daughter, but mostly to myself. “I just can’t do it.”

“Are you done?”

I opened my eyes, looked at another mom. “It’s really disgusting,” I warned her.

She pulled something cone-shaped out of her tote bag. “Oh, I have a portable urinal,” she said.

Anna’s eyes bugged out. So did mine.

What the ****?

I have now officially seen everything.

I grabbed Anna’s hand. “Let’s get out of here.”

When I’m at work on the weekend, I couldn’t help thinking, at least I have access to indoor plumbing. That is never a problem.

“What are we going to do, Mom?” Anna wondered. “Tinkle behind a tree?”

I mean, that wasn’t the worst idea, but there were kids everywhere; this was a school-related event. I didn’t want to do anything inappropriate that might provoke a law-enforcement response.

“How was the porta-potty?” Stanton asked when we returned.

I groaned. “It didn’t work out.”

Stanton’s eyes widened. “You still haven’t gone to the bathroom?”

“I’m OK, honey…I’m uncomfortable, but I’m OK.”

“I’m not, Dad!” Anna piped up. “I really need to tinkle.”

Stanton drove Anna and me to our friend’s Stewart’s (the good one). We used the public restroom (heaven!). Stanton bought a pack of gummy bears on the way out.

Grace has another lacrosse game next weekend, at another field I’ve never been to. I already have a game plan: Before we head out there, I’m going to Google nearby Stewart’s locations. I’m going to confirm they have public restrooms (and Maple French Toast coffee).

I’ll be prepared—really prepared—next weekend.

Photo credit: Pixabay

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Like what you just read? Then check out Melissa Leddy’s e-books on Amazon.com. Short fiction and creative nonfiction writing that’s engaging, witty and from the heart.

When You Volunteer for Your Child’s Scholastic Book Fair

This past week, my daughters’ elementary school welcomed back the Scholastic Book Fair after a yearslong, pandemic-induced hiatus.

Both Grace and Anna (especially Anna!) are big bookworms. They couldn’t wait.

A few days beforehand, I read through the online info page about the event. Toward the bottom of the page was a call for volunteers, along with the requisite SignUpGenius link. I clicked on the link.

Ah, jeez. There were still quite a few open shifts.

Now, the book fair was a PTA-sponsored event, and as you may remember, friends, I’m currently serving as the accidental secretary of the PTA. Several other PTA members had already signed up for multiple book-fair shifts, according to the SignUpGenius.

Agh.

I’ve been a bit MIA with my PTA duties lately, due to a combination of unexpected personal and professional commitments. I glanced at my calendar.

I could squeeze in some book-fair volunteering on Wednesday and Thursday afternoons. I was working at the library early both days, until 12 noon and 1 p.m. respectively, and could pop over to the girls’ school right after. I also had a freelance editing assignment from one of my higher-education clients, but…I signed up for two two-hour book-fair shifts (or “volunteer opportunities,” depending on how you looked at it).

😉

Of all the volunteer opportunities out there, lending a hand at my children’s Scholastic Book Fair sounded, well…perfect.

Absolutely perfect for me, right? I love books. I work at a library; I’m a writer. I even wrote a blog post dedicated to the many bookcases in our home.

Volunteering for the book fair…could it get any better than that?

Well, friends…the experience overall was good, but not quite as kumbaya as I’d envisioned…

Wednesday afternoon. I left work at the library around lunch time. Stopped at home for a quick bite myself, then headed over to the girls’ school.

Indeed, the book fair was back, and it was in full swing—exactly as I remembered it from my own childhood. Gray metal bookcases with the red Scholastic logo had been wheeled open in welcoming semicircles in a spare classroom. Signs above each bookcase announced the various selections: Chapter Books, Favorite Characters, Inspiring Tales.

Tables adorned with red tablecloths featuring books, planets and emojis offered up non-literary items too: mini backpacks, glittery notepads, fuzzy journals, tie-dye stress balls and holographic bookmarks.

The room truly burst with good vibes. Who doesn’t love a good book fair, especially the first one back after a while?

When I arrived, one class of kids was browsing, filling out Scholastic-provided “wish lists” for their parents.

“Remember: These are wish lists, not shopping lists for Mom and Dad,” one of the teachers said.

I had to smile; my mom had been a first-grade teacher, and that sounded like something she would have said.

I said hello to the other volunteers, as well as the teachers I knew. Then Anna’s second-grade class came in to browse, and I got to say hello to her and her friends too.

“Hi, Anna’s mom!” they replied.

OK, friends—this is what I love about volunteering for my daughters’ school. I love being part of a community I care about and, as much as I can, fostering positive energy for it. Man, do I love that.

But…I needed to use the restroom. “Is there a ladies’ room nearby?” I asked one of the other moms.

She pointed to the back of the room. Excellent.

I walked over, walked inside the restroom…and realized there was no lock on the door.

Huh.

I poked my head out. “Hey again,” I called out, trying to nonchalantly get the mom’s attention. She was at the cash register.

She waved back.

“There’s no lock on the door,” I hissed.

“Oh, just use the sign,” she said.

“Sign?”

“The ‘Occupied’ sign,” she repeated.

Outside the restroom door, I now noticed, were two signs: “Occupied” and “Vacant.” I guessed this was so that little kids wouldn’t get locked in accidentally.

I mean, I get it, but…I don’t 100 percent trust a little plastic “Do Not Disturb” flip sign, OK? I’m a grown-up, and I very strongly prefer a professional-grade lock when I take a bathroom break.

Just as I was about to beg the mom to come stand guard outside the restroom door for me, a second-grader went up to her with an armful of books (and lollipop-shaped pens, of course).

Agh.

Nearby, however, was a dad volunteer. Great. Just…great.

“Hey there, Matt?” (Matt is not his real name.)

“Hey!”

“So…um…” I explained my concern with the “Occupied” sign. He kindly agreed to stand guard while I used the no-lock restroom as quickly as humanly possible.

And that was Day 1 of my Scholastic book-fair volunteering. As for Day 2…

I mean, I get it, but…I don’t 100 percent trust a little plastic “Do Not Disturb” flip sign, OK?

Thursday, approximately 1:32 p.m. I had left work at the library at 1 p.m. and arrived a few minutes late for my 1:30-to-3:30 book-fair shift.

Oh. My. Goodness.

The book-fair room was packed—packed!—with kids. The majority of them were lined up at the table with the two cash registers.

“Whew, you’re here!” one of the moms at one of the cash registers said. She grabbed her jacket and bag and hightailed it out of there.

OK… I set my own jacket and bag down.

“Melissa, hi,” another mom said, smiling. She said she, too, had to dash back to work; she’d been volunteering on her lunch break.

“Of course,” I said, taking in the long line of kids in front of me.

“By the way,” this mom said, “some of the kids didn’t consider sales tax when they made their wish lists.” She gently shook a pencil cup holder; it jangled with something more than pencils. “We’ve been putting our spare change in here to help with that.”

I wasn’t sure how much spare change I had in my wallet. (Melissa Leddy is not a bank, after all. 😉 ) But, “Got it,” I gamely replied.

This mom headed out too. I, meanwhile, turned and smiled at my first book-fair customer of the day.

This young child, in turn, pushed one coloring book, two fuzzy journals and several Hello Kitty posters to my cash register. I began ringing up all the barcodes, and then told the child her grand total.

She gave me…not enough cash for everything.

I clasped my hands together. “So…it looks like you’re going to have to pick a few of your favorite things here.”

She wrinkled her nose. “I like all of them.”

“Well…” I like pages 16 through 19 of the Crate & Barrel catalog, but that doesn’t mean I can get all of it. “What are your very favorites?”

Before my shift wrapped up, I had a few more conversations like this. I imagine the same is true of any parent who has ever volunteered for a Scholastic book fair.

Perhaps elementary school is still a little too young to learn about sales tax…or that the funds parents load onto their children’s “eWallets” aren’t “free money,” as I overheard one child describe this digital payment option to his friend…or that you almost certainly will get more out of that LeBron James biography, or picture book entitled “The Smart Cookie,” than you will from that gumball machine eraser.

(Perhaps.)

I’m thankful I was able to be there for my daughters’ book fair—be a part of their school day, even for a little bit. It was fun; it really was.

And I knew, friends…as I was agonizing over the “Occupied” flip sign on Day 1 of my book-fair volunteering, I just knew I’d have some stories to tell before those gray metal bookcases with the red Scholastic logo got packed up again and wheeled out of the school.

Photo credit: Pixabay

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Like what you just read? Then check out Melissa Leddy’s e-books on Amazon.com. Short fiction and creative nonfiction writing that’s engaging, witty and from the heart.

I Didn’t Think About That Part Yet

About two weeks before Christmas, I brought my 11-year-old daughter to the pediatrician for her annual wellness visit. Grace has a summer birthday, but approximately a decade ago, I forgot to schedule this yearly checkup, so…yeah, now we’re permanently behind schedule on this.

Thus, on a weekday morning in December, Grace and I were at the doctor’s office. The appointment went smoothly until the end, when I asked the doctor if he could take Grace’s earrings out of her newly pierced ears. More than six weeks had passed since Grace had gotten them pierced, and she was excited to finally put in a new pair of earrings…except that the first pair wouldn’t budge.

The doctor removed the earrings. “Can you put the new ones in, or would you like me to?” he asked.

“Oh, I can do it,” I valiantly replied.

One last question: “Do you want to save the old earrings?” the doctor asked. “They’re disposable, you know.”

“Let’s just throw them out then,” I said.

“Mom.”

I glanced over at Grace. “I mean yes, of course we’ll save them.”

Because the earrings had some, well, human gunk on them, the doctor searched for something sterile to put them in. He rummaged through a cabinet before settling on a small, plastic, urine specimen collection cup. He dropped the earrings in there, then handed the cup to me.

Right. OK…sure, great. I tossed the medical cup into my big tote bag, where it joined all the other random things that weren’t actually mine, but instead belonged to various members of my family.

The doctor washed his hands and exited the exam room. I tried to help Grace with her new earrings.

Her earlobes were tender, though. “Mom,” Grace said, “will you please ask him to come back?”

Agh. But I told Grace sure. I left the exam room, found the doctor and asked if he wouldn’t mind popping back over. Again, he was kind and gracious…but I was fairly confident he’d be glad to move on to his next patient.

I brought Grace to school. Stopped by the post office to mail a Christmas/Hanukkah package to my mother-in-law. Had a very quick bite to eat, then arrived at work at the library, where I was covering someone else’s daytime shift.

My usual library work schedule, as many of you know, is several evenings each week, plus every third weekend. Whenever there’s an open shift during the day, though, I raise my hand for it. Because I’d prefer to work during the day, primarily. Even more so, I’d prefer not to work every third weekend.

For the past year and a half, then, I’ve been scooping up as many daytime shifts as I could. Trying to make myself a familiar daytime presence (hint, hint to the folks in charge). A new schedule opportunity had come up recently, in fact, one that required fewer weekends. I had applied for this schedule change, was waiting to hear back, was hoping I’d get it.

So that weekday, I got to work. Joined Chris, one of my favorite colleagues, at the circulation desk. Opened my big tote bag to throw my keys inside.

With a clank, they landed atop the urine specimen collection cup, which I had forgotten about somewhere between the pediatrician’s office and the library.

“Oh, my God.” I began laughing. “Chris, you won’t believe what weird medical thing is in my bag.”

Chris held up his hands. “You tell a good story, Melissa,” he said, polite as ever, “but I don’t want to hear this one.”

OK, buddy, OK.

😉

Only about an hour into my shift, my phone buzzed: the girls’ school. My 7-year-old daughter had a fever, the nurse said, and needed to be picked up.

I was stunned. Our family is truly lucky to be healthy so much of the time (I just knocked on wood!); I really can’t remember ever getting a call to go pick up one of the girls.

I walked over to my manager. “I’m so sorry, but I have to go,” I said. “Anna’s sick.”

My manager was very understanding and kind. I drove (back) over to the school, where the nurse told me many of the second-graders had a bug of some sort. A large percentage of them were absent, or being sent home.

I hugged my little child. “Are you OK, honey?”

“Mom,” Anna said. “I really don’t feel sick.”

But she did have a fever.

Back at home, I gave Anna some Tylenol. We sat together on the couch. She rested her head against my chest; I kissed the top of her head. By that time the following day, she was back to her old self.

“I’m so glad you feel better,” I said.

Anna nodded. “What really helped, I think, was your snuggles.”

Yes, friends, you know me too well: My eyes misted up immediately, and I gave that child a huge hug.

Not long after, I did a Zoom call with a lovely college senior. I was writing a magazine article about young women and mentoring, and this call was my last interview before I began writing the piece.

During our conversation, this woman talked about some of the gendered barriers she hopes to knock down when she enters the workforce. I nodded along, totally hearing and agreeing with everything this person half my age was saying. And then suddenly, without meaning to, I got choked up.

“I’m so sorry,” I said, breaking eye contact across the computer screen. “I just—you know, I just really hear what you’re saying. And yes, being a woman and especially a mom in the workplace can be really hard sometimes.”

This young woman kindly listened and empathized. Our whole Zoom call was a real conversation, which I loved. And I got it together enough to finish the call on a somewhat professional note.

“I just—you know, I just really hear what you’re saying…”

Days before Christmas, my manager shared with me that the library wasn’t able to give me the schedule change I had requested, due to various reasons I genuinely understand. I get it; I really do.

At the same time, part of me couldn’t help thinking…I’ve done everything I can to be here for this place, this team. Especially the past few months, doing whatever I could to show that I cared: covering shifts, participating in the annual staff development day, making fall- and winter-themed decorations for the circulation desk even though I’m famously arts-and-crafts-challenged.

😉

Working at the library is more than a part-time job to me. It’s about community, and connection, and stories—things I’ve loved my whole life. And…or really, but…it’s been hard at times. The schedule has been hard.

“I just don’t know sometimes, Stan,” I said to my husband.

Stanton touched my arm. “Mel…I’m so proud of you.”

I raised my eyebrows.

“Like when we go to the middle school for one of Grace’s basketball games, and we walk down the hall…everyone knows you from the library, everyone says hi, and you know everyone too.” Stanton paused. “It can be a little annoying, too, because it takes forever to get to the gym…”

I smiled.

“But overall, Mel…I think it’s all good.”

Maybe so, friends. Just maybe so.

During the holidays, a stink bug somehow got into our house. Stanton, our resident exterminator, was still at work.

“Don’t worry,” Grace told Anna and me. She removed her hard-soled slipper from her foot, prepared to kill the bug.

“Awesome, Grace, but the painter just painted this wall,” I said. “Your shoe might bang it up.”

“Don’t worry,” Grace repeated. She placed some tissue over her shoe, then quietly yet effectively squished the bug.

I love this kid. “Thank you,” I said, hugging Grace. Then I noticed she was still holding her shoe against the wall, and the bug. “It’s probably dead…right? Do you want to let go?”

Grace half-smiled, half-cringed at me. “I don’t know, Mom. I didn’t think about that part yet.”

The girls and I laughed, I know, but I honestly don’t remember what happened next. The past few weeks (months?…years?) have all been a bit nonstop.

But one thing I do know. One thing I do know for sure.

It’s OK—it really is OK—not to know what the next part is.

Happy, Happy New Year, friends. Wishing everyone every good thing.

❤

Photo credit: Pixabay

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