Thursday, September 15, 2011

First Seconds

Today was the first day of the second year of T's middle school. I've become so Italian-like that I forgot that it was also the first day of the dreaded seventh grade. A day --which due to my own experiences as a sfigata/uncool person-- I had begun worrying about approximately the second after I found out I was pregnant. We are all much cooler now and know that parents must walk at least two blocks behind said seventh grader on the first day, and, thereafter, must appear in the park behind the school and not in the parking lot where someone might see us, for lord's sake. I win high points as a mom for having made it through the 45 seconds in which Target's website was not crashed in America yesterday -- for non-Americans Target is a huge discount chain store-- and in which I piled into the cart as many Missoni for Target girls' clothes size 10-12 as was humanly possible, given the fact that it was impossible to veer from the page due to unprecedented demand.

First day pre-school
First day Kindergarten

First day Seventh Grade

We had to wake up at the crack of crack for this one hour and a half long first day of school and I got the least sleep since I was all revved up after my first staff meeting at Happy Gym last night. First off, I met a nice girl who was taking a martial arts class and was hanging out with all the cute guys in the class who arrived on their mopeds with their tattoos and their piercings. Note to girls in Italy: if you want to meet hunky guys get your courage on and sign up for a wing tsun class where you will be in the vast minority. Then I gossiped with the front desk person who is named not Nicole, but something like Micole.

Finally my new boss, Francesca, finished up teaching her class and had us sit in a circle. All my coworkers came straggling in with various degrees of lateness and flamboyance. Then a cute older lady and a red faced older gentleman wearing a shark tooth necklace came in and sat on two of the few chairs. I was sitting Indian style on the floor with the young women teachers pretending that my back and knees weren't killing me. I'm down was the message I was trying to send. I can't get up was the message I did send. Immediately after entering the older couple started nagging Francesca about her advertising methods and I thought how cute it was that her parents attend the staff meetings. Later I found out that they were the ballroom dancing teachers and that they are lethal.

We all clapped when the latest arrival whose name was either Amanda or Daniella came in because her troupe had just come in second in a dance competition.  During the pizza celebration afterwards her purse that she left on the ground with everyone's dance bags was stolen with all her worldly possessions. She told us the whole entire story. In detail. This was right after Francesca had just told us about how we needn't share useless personal information with our students.  The meeting was about keeping the place clean, saying hi to each other, not being rude to the parents, not forgetting to tell Francesca about school related social events, and dealing with problems in room temperature.  It was like being scolded for something you didn't do, insomma. And it lasted an hour and a half. 

After the meeting some of the girls asked to see my method so I did a brief demonstration that was impossible for them to follow, trying to encourage them to believe that it is something mysterious and new. Who knows if that was smart or not. Plus I limped home because frenetic movement after sitting Indian style for  an hour and a half when you are 41 years old is unwise.


Update: T is in a group of five girls in her class and has several close friends outside her class, but seventh grade is still suck-ish.


Arrivederci, Brooklyn!

1 comment:

Cold Spring Kathleen said...

Oh how I loved seeing 5-year-old Tatia! That's the girl I first met and the memory is so fresh. So stinkin' cute. And now as big as her mama. Poof. Going fast here, too.

I continue to be so proud of you all and everything you're accomplishing in your adopted home. Have a great time, and Karen, girl --watch those knees!! Love to all. . .