March 2012

Education Is When You Read The Fine Print, Experience Is What You Get When You Don't. (Pete Seeger)

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***Easter Bake Sale! Contributions Needed!***

look! +++ "Five Fridays in a Month" Cupcake Festival Next Week! +++ look!

May Day Bake Sale! Cookies! Cakes! Cupcakes! Candy! What can you make with flowers or butterflies or spring themes? Call Joanie Churchill to donate!

|||| Halloween Festival! What Ghoulish Goodies Can You Donate? ||||

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If there is ever a shortage of exclamation marks…head to your local grade school. Some room mother has used more than her share, that's all.

When Lexi was in preschool, they regulated what the kids could bring in their snack boxes—but they would have a bake sale at the drop of a hat. You aren't allowed to bring a mini Milky Way in your box—but, man, are we gonna soak you for boxes of caramel popcorn and pink and purple cupcakes after school.

After kindergarten it was harder to regulate what went to school; the kindergarteners ate their snack in the middle of the morning (or afternoon, for the afternoon session kids) and it was in the classroom. If you sent something to school that was not on the approved list… you and the teacher had a chat after school. From first grade on, all the kids were in the cafeteria and it was impossible to keep on top of who brought what. The best they could do was make the rule for the classroom—birthday treats could be non-food or, if food, non-sweet. No cake, no ice cream, no candy. (No fun.) We couldn't even bring in trail mix—no peanuts, either. But they would throw a bake sale at the drop of a hat. And I was an easy touch for making or buying goodies—so was Ducky.

Lexi was our able assistant. From an early age, she helped out scraping mixing bowls, cutting out cookies, licking beaters. As she got older and mastered her numbers, we started factoring her into the process more and more. But in the beginning, in preschool… it was pretty basic.

Sometimes it was very basic.

"Cassandra…?"

Ducky sounded rather innocent. Rather too innocent. "Yeah?" I yelled back. I was swapping out laundry in the basement; I had 28 minutes left on a batch of brownies in the oven, a chocolate cherry cake on the table was settling and the counter had stacked racks with frosted cookies hardening. I had everything timed to the nth degree.

"When is this bake sale?"

"Next couple of days! Why?"

"Not just tomorrow…?"

I stopped wrestling Mother's lap quilt from the washer. I turned around and walked to the foot of the stairs. Hands on hips, I called out, "No, it's not just tomorrow… Why?"

"Aaah—well…"

I made it into the kitchen in five seconds flat. When I ran downstairs, Lexi had been sitting at the breakfast table, happily coloring in her Lion King coloring book.

She wasn't coloring any more.

"Let me guess. You told her, 'Don't touch the cake.' Yes?"

I nodded dumbly.

"Well," he sighed. "She didn't touch it…"

True dat. Her hands were clean. Her face, on the other hand, was covered in chocolate, cherry cream and whipped sugar frosting. I should have never shown her the picture of her at three months, leaning out of the backpack, face covered in stolen chocolate.

Ducky worked on cleaning our daughter while I cleaned up the table. If I cut the cake in half, we could salvage enough for our dessert—and I'd just start on a replacement after dinner. "We're gonna have to work on 'spirit of the law versus the letter of the law,'" I muttered.

Ducky snorted. "Good luck with that one. Most adults don't understand the concept, let alone follow it."

"You keep saying she's an exceptional child. We'll just make sure that's one of the exceptions!"