Kindergarten Registration

There’s a sign stretched across Main Street announcing kindergarten registration at Florence Roche. I cringe when I recall that last year I forgot to register my four-year-old for kindergarten.

When I realized my gaffe, I was one-and-a-half hours into a marathon business meeting. My cell phone rang. Actually, it didn’t ring, because this time I had remembered to turn off all sounds. But it did everything it possibly could to make itself noticed from its position on the conference table (and I was not the only one who noticed it). 

I looked at the number as I swiped the phone off the table and into my lap. It was a school number, but I couldn’t answer it because I was sitting on the far side of the room with no easy escape.

“Tick tick tick” I thought impatiently. The presenter showed no signs of slowing down, even though it was half past the hour when I had expected they’d bring in lunch. Somewhat angst-ridden, I told myself if the caller left a voicemail, I’d listen to it right away, no matter what else was going on in that meeting.

Sure enough, the phone did its “notice me” routine again when the voicemail was delivered. It was my oldest’s teacher telling me, “Nothing is wrong, I just wanted to call your attention to the kindergarten registration packet I’m sending home with your son…the deadline was today…”

“Oh, no….” I thought. I already had a registration packet at home. I felt like I’d been particularly clever to pick it up when I was visiting for my recent parent-teacher conference. I had also felt particularly triumphant that I’d actually shown up in person for this one, unlike the previous appointment, which wound up occurring over the phone, me sniffling as I stifled my tears, thinking what a loser parent I was to have spaced on my son’s first ever parent-teacher conference – even though I’d seen it in my calendar just the evening before.

It was a busy month (I was in sales at that time) and I had moved the registration packet from the kitchen counter to my desk to the dining room table, and to the end table in the living room, and every time I leafed through it, nothing compelled me to actually fill it out.

As soon as I could, I bolted for the door and called the school, ignoring the lunch that had finally arrived. As I scheduled the requisite screening appointment, I promised to have the paper work filled out and returned by the following Monday.

While the calendaring software I used for work was functional and up-to-date, I knew I was living on the edge in my personal day planner, where I entered (or forgot to enter) all of our family appointments.

Thankfully, today I no longer have to commute two-plus hours a day because I work full time in my home office. So while my personal day planner might be bulging with sticky notes and appointment cards and never seems to contain a pen, my work-life balance is pretty good.

Additionally, it’ll be another three years before I need to think about kindergarten registration again.