Supplies

     Please excuse any typos that may occur throughout this post.  If there are more than usual, I am blaming it on my children's teachers.  That's right.  It is said teachers who required me to purchase 34  #2 pencils.  It was also by their requirement that I sharpened those 34 #2 pencils using an old crank sharpener that, for reasons I will never know, is built into my hallway linen closet.  By extension, I am blaming these well meaning women behind my children's school supply lists for the blister that has taken over my right thumb, making it much more difficult to accomplish every day tasks such as writing and typing.  I could also blame them for the perma-cramp now plaguing my right hand, which was induced by labeling each of those #2 pencils with miniature versions of my children's names.  Yes, along with the 100 other school items I branded with my kiddo's insignia, I also labeled each wooden pencil.  Ever tried writing on an 8mm wooden hexagonal cylinder with a 10 mm felt tip marker?  During the ordeal of the Labeling of the Pencils (capitals have been added because this will now become an annual dreadfully anticipated event in the Stanger household), I began to desire an old brass lamp complete with a three-wish genie.  Had I such a convenience at my disposal, my three wishes would have been as follows: 1) a label maker, 2) a time machine, so I could travel back to the days of my children's births and change their names to T.J.  and Emily, Em for short, 3) a high powered electric pencil sharpener.   Now, I know what you are thinking.  Had I such an all powerful genie at my beck and call, shouldn't I just wish for an endless supply of presharpened, pre-labeled pencils?  It certainly would have made more sense.  Since the genie never did show up, it hardly mattered that my brain had become as numb as my fingers.  This mind numbing occurred gradually, over the course of about a week.  It began with the Buying of the Supplies.  About two weeks ago, I printed off two crisp white sheets of paper detailing the supplies necessary to ensure my children's academic success for the year.  One evening, with lists in hand, I traveled to the store, reminiscing all the while on my own school girl days.  I used to love the smell of a brand new box of crayons and pencil shavings.  I would flip excitedly through my blank white notebook pages, just waiting to be filled with the priceless knowledge I would soon be gaining.  When I arrived at the store, there were 1,000 other moms who had ,perhaps, four hours and three shopping carts earlier, had the same naive delusions about the joy of school supply shopping as I had harbored.  These mothers now looked more like they would likely stab someone with one of their 400 #2 pencils, if only they were sharpened.  By the end of my trip, I could empathize with the looks on those poor mother's faces.  When the cashier in the checkout aisle cheerfully asked me if I "found everything alright" I was tempted to see how a Crayola crayon would work as an impaling object. It should have been a cake walk.  All of the standard supplies were conveniently grouped into bins and labeled.  I should have been able to walk in a straight line, stopping briefly to add a box of crayons or a pair of scissors to the contents of my cart.  I soon came to realize, however, that each item on the lists in my hand was size and brand specific.  I had to find the 1.27 oz glue sticks with the black label.  I found black label glue, but nowhere could I find a glue stick which matched the size specifications.  I also spent about an hour opening every spiral notebook in the store in an attempt to find one without perforated pages.  A friend had previously warned me this might happen after her own notebook debacle.  After searching high and low, she had found exactly one spiral notebook with non-perforated pages.  The front cover boasted a picture of Justin Bieber.  Not wanting to set her third-grader up for a case of Bieber fever, she had grabbed the notebook with the least noticeable perforation and run.  Afraid that my inability to procure the correct supplies for my daughter may serve as a reflection of my lack of dedication, and by extension, my daughter's lack of dedication to her education, I called every office supply store in a 50 mile radius in search of the illusive non-perforated spiral notebook.  With each call, I was informed that non-perforated spiral notebooks were no longer produced.  The last one in existence was probably snatched up by some Beiber lover whose teacher didn't even require non-perforated pages.   When I returned home 5 hours, 15 phone calls and 20 bags later, I informed my husband that he would be in charge of the school supply shopping next year.
     This explanation for my current school supply induced stupor does not even take into account The Buying of the School Clothes, which, when you have children who are half the size of their peers, is quite a challenge.  But, that is another post for another day.  I am left wondering several things after the previous week.  I wonder if it will be somehow detrimental to my children's academic futures that they are using the wrong size glue stick and the wrong type of notebook.  I wonder how many mothers grudgingly bought their third graders Justin Beiber notebooks.  I wonder how much electric pencil sharpeners cost these days.  I wonder if there is any mole skin left in my first aid kit.  But most of all I wonder when things got so complicated.  Did our mothers spend hours searching for the Prang watercolors (which, by the way, are only sold at King's in Shelley)?  Did they go on wild goose chases for the 1.27 oz black label glue stick?  Or were school supplies just school supplies once upon a time?  Did life really used to be so much simpler, or did it just seem simpler because we weren't the ones in charge?  We were the ones who eagerly smelled our untouched crayons and clutched our unadulterated Lisa Frank notebook and dreamed of the possibilities of a new year.  We were the ones in the spotlight.  Our mothers had painstakingly outfitted us with everything we needed to become the stars of our classes.  We probably complained when we were handed the New Kids on the Block notebook when we had been eyeing the sparkly pink one with the kitten on it, not realizing that our mothers were still recovering from a tri-city search for the right kind of notebook.  They were our silent cheerleaders.  I am sure that now, my children think that their school supplies, clothes and everything else that they use on a daily basis, appear out of thin air.  They do not realize that we are living in a house with sixty year old plumbing and a history of water damage so that we can afford the cheer uniforms, the 10,000 pencils that will be bought over the course of their school careers, to say nothing of the diapers and formula.  As parents, we make a thousand tiny daily sacrifices which go largely unnoticed by the very ones we are sacrificing for.  After the Buying of the Supplies and the Labeling of the Supplies and the hunt for the coveted and rare non-perforated, non Bieber notebook, I have once again been reminded of how much my parents sacrificed for me.  They drove us everywhere in an old Toyota mini van for twenty years.  We always had nice clothes to wear to school, the required school supplies to bring with us, and, most importantly, a loving and supportive home to return to at the end of the day.  I read a passage from one of Shakespeare's most famous soliloquies this morning.  Macbeth soliloquized that "life is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing."  I guess we could say that Macbeth was more than a little jaded, as was Shakespeare himself.  As for me, I will continue to play my part as the sentimental idiot who tells my tales to anyone who will listen.  The tale I wish to tell today is one of gratitude; of a deep appreciation for parents who have sacrificed so many comforts throughout their lives in my behalf.  Being a parent is full of plenty of sound and a good dose of fury.  But, I have to believe the seemingly insignificant acts we commit each day for the love of our children do actually signify something.  Looking back on my childhood with the perspective of a parent, my own parents actions and sacrifices signify clearly to me that they loved me enough to do anything for my happiness and well being. Thanks mom and dad, for every sharpened pencil, for every after school snack, for every bed  time story you read me when all you wanted to do was fall into bed yourselves. Thank you for supplying me with a sense of security and well-being which I am now trying to pass on to my own children, one sharpened pencil at a time.