I sat in silence as my friend continued to give me a breakdown of all the “trendy” school supplies she was preparing for the first day of school for her children.
“She really wanted the chevron print for her folders,” my friend said. “When we couldn’t find any, I just made them myself, complete with monogram initials.”
Looking over the perfectly alined letters splashed against a chevron print, I admitted that the folder looked perfect.
“You know I had the hardest time trying to remember what initial went first and what font size to make each letter,” she continued, now showing off the accompanying book bag in the same chevron print. “But we pulled it off amazing, I thought.”
I sat there at the kitchen table, biting the inside of my cheek.
“What print did you decide to make for Elsie,” she asked.
My daughter Elsie doesn’t know about chevron prints. And honestly, I can barely sew a button on a shirt.
“You can use my embroidery machine if you want to add anything to Elsie’s stuff,” my friend graciously offered.
I didn’t have the heart to tell her that the last time I attempted to transform myself into Betty Crocker, I ran my fingertip through my sewing machine. That devil of a machine was on its way to the Fletchers Chapel pitch-in cans immediately afterward.
“Oh, let me give you that recipe for that super easy casserole that you can make the night before breakfast,” she continued, looking through her cabinets. “You just heat it up in the morning, and it’s done.”
Thanking my friend for the recipe, I hugged her neck and made my way to my car.
School wasn’t going to start for another two weeks. I had plenty of time to get everything for Elsie and my son James.
Two weeks later...
“Momma, where are you,” I shouted into my phone, as I stood on my front porch. “We’ve got eight different stores to hit, and I’m still waiting on you.”
My mother finally pulled up at my house. Before she could even shut her car off, I threw Elsie and James in the back seat.
“Let me drive,” I instructed, pushing Momma into the passenger seat. “We have gotta get their shoes at the Black and White store before the crowd hits.”
Yes, I waited until just a few days before school to get everything. Yes, I salvaged glue sticks and unbroken crayons from last year. Yes, I was wearing yoga pants with a coffee-stained shirt. But none of those things were going to stop me from pulling this off.
Taking curves like a NASCAR driver, I gave everyone a rundown of our activities and hot spots that day.
“Now listen to me,” I said, looking at the kids in the rear view mirror. “We are gonna act like we have got some sense in these stores. I don’t have time for foolishness. We are trying on shoes and clothes. We are getting school supplies. Don’t act a fool, and don’t make me embarrass you.”
“I told you we should have went shopping last week,” Momma said, staring out the window.
Ignoring my Momma, I continued my rant.
“Don’t hide in the clothes racks,” I said. “Don’t hit each other. And don’t slip extra clothes in the buggy when I’m not looking.”
We arrived in Yazoo City on two wheels. Hustling our tails off, we got what we needed without making too much of a scene.
Three hours later, we were in the grocery store. Restraining Elsie in the buggy seat (even though she is technically too big), I began to grab a mountain of Capri-Suns, sandwich meat, fruit cups, pudding pops, Little Debbie snacks and everything else a child’s lunch needs.
“Momma, I want to get the cool snacks,” James said.
“Put that back on the shelf,” I said. “That’s that high-dollar, name-brand stuff. I ain’t paying that when I can get the store brand for half of that. You don’t need Goldfish. Whales will do just fine.”
I was so flustered, I completely ignored the “Daddy buys the cool snacks” comment.
That evening, my house was not filled with the hum of an embroidery machine. The squeak of a black Sharpie marker was booming.
The next morning, the smell of that hot, delicious casserole didn’t float down the halls. Pop-Tarts were being shoved in everyone’s hands as we made our way to the truck.
As sweat poured down my face on the way to school that first day, I took a sigh of relief. School was back, and things could start getting back in a routine.
And the Patterson kids arrived at school with new shoes, new clothes and their own supplies they picked out personally.
With a honk and a wave, we sent them off down the halls of another school year.
And I said a silent prayer of thanks that I remembered to pull the price tags off their shirts.
