Back To School Special!

Mom and I were reflecting on one of the sure signs that would have foreshadowed the fact that I wasn’t going to be normal.

Back-to-school-supply shopping was the ultimate shopping excursion for me as a kid.

And no, we aren’t talking about back-to-school clothing shopping [those excursions usually ended with me crying in the dressing room and my mother dragging me out of the mall].

I am talking about the actual supplies.

My prep for back to school shopping was fairly simple:

1. wait patiently all summer to get back-to-school list and teacher’s letter in the mail.
2. pawn over said letter and list until my mother was ready to go back-to-school shopping
3. clean out back pack entirely so as to convince my mother that there was absolutely nothing I could re-use from the previous year. New year = new stuff, you want me to do well in school, don’t you?
4. brainstorm items that weren’t on my teacher’s list that I would need to convince my mother I would simply need. (I’ll never understand how my teachers didn’t realize that I would need both fat and skinny markers, as well as two boxes of colored pencils, and sharpie pens.)
5. make a very organized back-to-school-supply-wish-list by school subject
6. remain calm until shopping excursion

Mind you, my excitement for back-to-school shopping was anything but subtle, and my mother actually thought that it was normal for children to be excited to buy school supplies, that is until my brother came along when she realized that I was actually the exception to the rule, as opposed to the rule. (Sorry Matt, for setting an unfair precedent for you in that school supply shopping was fun.)

At any rate, back to the thriving metropolis that was the Framingham area Staples. Ahhh, the smell of victory was in the air.

I had my routine, which I meticulously followed every year. Back to school shopping was like grocery shopping: start at one end, and go aisle by aisle to the other end. First I got the essentials: different [yet appropriately picked] colored binders for every subject, with spiral notebook to match in designated color (which needed to fit inside three ring binder, behind folder pockets in each binder. Next we got the other basics like the ruler, protractor, and pencil/supply case. Those were the things that I knew I wouldn’t need to argue over.

Then came the good stuff.

Each aisle was dedicated to a different aspect of my neurotic school year: writing utensils, organization materials, and storage materials.

This was where the bargaining came into play.

If my parents wanted me to do well in school, in addition to the aforementioned markers and pencils, I also needed sticky notes, multi-colored highlighters, dividers, markers to clearly label said dividers, mechanical pencils, pens, a red pen, white out pen, agenda book, and labels. If I did not get all of these things, then I would not do well in school, and it would be my parents’ fault completely. Also, how is it that my mother didn’t understand that I needed the full box of colored pencils, including limited edition colors, as opposed to just the typical box of colored pencils. Helloooo, limited edition colors!

At the end of the day, I would be forced to compromise, but end up getting most of the amazing supplies I needed in order to have a great school year.

Sometimes I wonder if my powers of persuasion hit their prime at age twelve.

Regardless of the loot, I would rush home, dump everything out on the family room floor, and meticulously label, organize, and pack my [cute, monogrammed, hunter green] L.L. Bean backpack. Then, I would sit there amidst the lingering plastic film, feeling accomplished, but way too tired to clean up any of the trash.

Yes, this I know that this should have been loud, overpowering warning alarm as to how I would organize school supplies into college, and might even explain a few of my mental thought processes currently, but we all know my New Year’s resolution (you cannot stress about the things you cannot control) and I dont intend on stressing over whether therapy as a child might have solved some of my current life problems.

HA. Right.