Just Your Average Start
A police escort, a potential OD and oh so many emotions, all in Week One of school this year.
The first half of this school year took it out of me. Somehow, the chances I had to sit down at a computer with even 15 minutes on my hands amounted to maybe twice in four months. It’s hard to pinpoint how that happens but if you’re a mom (and wife), you probably get it.
Now that my Nana isn’t around anymore, I’m fully aware no one’s been distraught over my lack of regular presence in their inboxes. But I had a recent conversation with perhaps the most high achieving, ass kicking, quadruple threat of a friend I have who told me her word for 2025 is “completion”. So I’m stealing that notion and refusing to quit my commitments even in the face of sleep depravation, menial daily BS and the very real possibility of total disinterest.
Having said that, I find myself regularly asked to recount stories of the shenanigans of my often over the top husband and household while responding to requests for travel tips to various destinations. So I’m going to keep on keepin’ on, even through carpal tunnel tingles. The struggle is real.
Let’s begin 2025 with a little tale about how our 2024/2025 school year began …
Every once in a while, I catch a glimpse of what friends and acquaintances imagine might transpire in our home. They paint a picture with an offhanded comment they think will go unnoticed. But I notice. My takeaway from the handfuls of these comments I’ve collected over the years is that we’ve established a brand that’s best described as a blend of chaos and fun. It could be worse. Ours is a unique environment some may view as mayhem but above all else, there’s infinite love guiding the laws of the Brahatkin household.
To paint a clearer picture, ours is the sort of home where you may, for instance, be encouraged to launch yourself off of some piled up backyard furniture and into the pool. You’ll most certainly be provided boxing gloves for infinite rounds of “Rocky” (Balboa), the latest obsession which has introduced some accidental shiners into the equation. Bedtime around here is more parts parkour than relaxing lullabies and lavender-scented pillow spray. There’s a lot of dancing, epic soccer tournaments, a full calendar of “shows” and enough overstimulation to make yours truly regularly feel the need for a solid week in a sensory depravation tank.
My and Gabri’s parenting styles are mostly derived from our values which are pretty in sync. We want them to be kindhearted, strong willed, curious contributors to the world. Well, maybe the kindhearted piece comes more from me. Gabri is more overcome with pride when he receives an “incident report” denoting his two year old daughter’s criminal behavior. Said report is then shared in family chat with the criminal in question revered for her bravado and take no prisoners attitude.
There are some cultural collisions when it comes to the manner in which we deliver daily lessons. For instance, when Dani gets in the minimal sort of trouble consistent with a kindergartener, my instinct is to help him understand why his teacher wasn’t a fan of the behavior and why he should avoid repeating it. Instead, Gabri’s instinct is to tell him not to get caught. This is all to say that the way the first week of school transpired, complete with law enforcement and illicit substances, wasn’t totally off brand.
Day One: The Police Escort
Dani (five, turning six) started kindergarten across the street from his preschool, positioning his new school the same three minutes from our house. This makes the scooter/moto ride to school as safe a thrill as any (speed bumps and school zone limitations the whole way) and it allows for cutting the line that backs up for blocks. As things go on first days, or every day in our house, we were rushing to get out the door despite having been up since the wee hours. Rafa, allowed to accompany big bro the first couple of days, hopped on my Vespa with the helmet I throw on as second nature and we were off knowing Dani wanted to go on the motorcycle with Papà. About 90 seconds later, I heard the bleep bleep that makes hearts sink and vehicles anxiously pull aside. I was sure I was being pulled over. There’s an irrational part of me that feels every police person everywhere has been made aware of any questionable activity I’ve ever taken part in. I’m always guilty. So, I reluctantly turned my head but discovered it was, instead, Gabri and Dani. Gabri had forgotten Dani’s helmet and was being lectured, rightly so, by the unusually nice police officer. I was trying to figure out where I was going to deposit Rafa as I swung back around to get Dani so he wouldn’t be late on the first day of school. But as I went to text Gabri, I instead saw a text from him which read “go on without us, don’t show we are together.” So, rattled, I moseyed on ahead, parked, and Rafa and I watched as Dani and Gabri exited the back of a cop car to find a group of astonished kindergarten onlookers undoubtedly imagining a plethora of things Dani was being arrested for. Failing to brush his teeth? Escaping bed to sleep in ours for the night? The options endless, I sent Gabri a look of WTF? as he exited dripping with sweat. Apparently criminals don’t benefit from AC in the back of police vehicles. Some friends looked on without even double taking, later hearing the story and responding with “I bet Gabri didn’t even get a ticket.” He didn’t.
Day Four: The Gummy Incident
Fast forward to Thursday where anxiety over all the newness was in full effect. That morning, Dani, a true believer in good hygiene, called me to supervise the wiping of his butt. Everyone talks about potty training but butt wiping training is proving far more difficult. In my bathroom, Dani informed me he’d caught a glimpse of “Papa’s gummies.” I vaguely recalled a brief conversation about grown up medicine (they are used as a sleep aid for Gabri who has a constant electric current running through his veins). I definitely remembered having multiple conversations with Gabri about putting his multicolored, sugar-coated, kid catnip somewhere the littles couldn’t see or reach. But alas, the man who panics when they try on his shoes for fear they might trip ignores my reminders to keep his illicit substances out of reach. And so, later in the day, I found myself in the bathroom looking at the gummy jar in a strange position, lid ajar. Imagining an already anxiety-ridden Dani in a gummy-induced rabbit hole of stoned total panic, I swiftly asked Gabri how he left the gummy jar and when he said he hadn’t had one in a while, my heart sunk into my stomach and Gabri was off to school to check if our five year old son was high. He wasn’t. And when questioned, he told the truth. Had it been Rafa, our middle munchkin, he would have undoubtedly shoved every gummy in the jar into his mouth at once and then lied about it. We would have gone to the ER and child services would have been there to greet us. The gummies are now on a much higher shelf.
Day Five: Carless Wet Drop Off
On Friday I was left without a car and with three children to drop off at two different schools in the pouring rain. The culprit? Tennis. Or Padel. I can’t recall but it was for some racket sport in which Gabri’s working on becoming a legend, even if in his own mind. Don’t worry though. Once all of the manic, frazzled, wet transportation was complete and he was done with his match, he swung by to give the littles, already safely settled into class grazie yours truly, a kiss. Like we say around here, that’s-a-Gabri … full of love and chaos. And thus began our 2024-2025 school year.