So, it turns out that our local grocery store does not open until 7am.
How do I know this?
Nana told me.
How does Nana know this?
She is visiting us, and was gracious enough to travel to said grocery store at 6:30 am this morning to buy one apple.
Who was Jonesing for one apple at 6:30am, you ask?
No one. And normally, I would have served an apple core out of the garbage before loading everyone up that early for a trip to the store.
However, last night (too late to go out) I remembered that E was supposed to take an apple to school for her Kindergarten’s “Johnny Appleseed” unit.
I also remembered that Nana was here, and (God love her), she naturally follows the schedule my children have forced me into (i.e. she naturally wakes up at 6am).
So, when she graciously volunteered to use her early morning time to get us the apple…
and then upped the ante by volunteering to take the wide-awake T with her…
I took her up on the offer. (Who wouldn’t?! And, by the way, I was helping E get ready for school at the time, just so you don’t think I sent Nana off and then went back to bed!)
How was I to know that poor Nana would end up looking like a kid peering in a store window at some forbidden object for half-an-hour? (the eternally forbidden fruit, it turns out, that bright red apple…)
Grocery stores have those bright, all-night, lights! Who knew they weren’t open until 7am?
By the way, this might be another piece of evidence that although E is rocking her Kindergarten class, I am in danger of failing the “parent of a Kindergartener curriculum” (seriously, it is harder than you think keeping track of their assignments, completing the administrative paperwork correctly, making sure their spare cubby clothing is weather appropriate amid ever-changing fall temperatures, and remembering which days we pack shorts for gym, books for library, a fresh blanket for naptime laundry exchange, etc.)
Given my mis-steps so far (only one month into the school year), it makes it extra nice that instead of just buying one apple, once Nana got into the store, she bought a bag of apples for E to take just in case any other families forgot theirs.
Although we donated the apples to the pile as anonymously as possible, I think Nana realized that we should – even subconsciously – get in good with this group of families now, early in the schooling experience.
Because although I love all types of people (and secretly admire the more organized ones), the folks who appreciate those extra apples being there are the folks I understand, feel connected to, and will probably see most often.
They are my people. They are the ones who forget the apple, but realize they forgot the apple, and will be intent upon moving heaven-and-earth to get an apple there, until they realize that someone dropped off a huge bag of spare apples. They are not the ones who remember the apple effortlessly every time. And they are not the ones who forget the apple, but don’t really care.
They are the ones who, when we create a cornucopia in November, will make up for an apple-oversight by dropping a few extra gourds in the pile anonymously, and by doing so, will save me a panicked trip to Target.
These are the people who I will meet at school as we drop off the lunches that were left on the counter in the middle of morning crazies. They are the folks I will see when we’re all picking up posterboard at Target at midnight some evening because something spilled on (or a sibling ate part of) the just-completed project at dinner. We will chat about how our kids will all be gluing things on a new poster tomorrow morning before the 7:50am school bell. Craft party at my place; be there at 6am!
For better or worse, these are my people, and I love them before I’ve even met them.
Thanks for the effort and the apples, Nana! And thanks for beginning my connection to my group of parents: the ones who are (1) invested enough to make it happen no matter what sort of Herculean effort is required to do so, and (2) imperfect enough that we can be friends.