SnarkGirl starts school -- fourth grade! -- tomorrow, and OctoBoy reports to first grade on Thursday. Uniforms are clean and laid out, lunches are pre-packed and backpacks are at the ready. Now all we have to do is deal with the buses.
OctoBoy never received a bus assignment, so I called the school district's bus coordinator this morning.
"He doesn't get a bus. He walks."
"When did this policy change? He had a bus last year."
"No, he didn't."
Uh...what? I pulled out the Big File of All Things School-related, and found last years' bus assignment card, and read off the various number groupings on the card.
"Well, we don;t have a bus for him. You'll have to deal."
"What about the 27 other kids on his bus? What about the four other kids that go to the same school and share the same bus stop?"
"They're screwed, too."
"Did you actually tell everyone this, or were we all supposed to wait at the damn stop for a bus that was never going to show? Is your office run by spineless troglodytes with the collective intelligence of slime mold?"
"Uh...we'll get it straightened out by the end of the month."
"School starts Thursday, for God's sake. I'm calling Sister Meatball and letting her know about all this. I'm sure she'll be fabulously pleased and have some input."
"Sister....Meatball? No, we can handle this. She doesn't have to know!"
Muahaha, motherfuckers. Sr. Meatball is the Big Gun, er Nun, and she's a formidable opponent. She may be a wee little thing, with white hair and a saintly smile, but she has a glare that could drop a rhino at 50 yards, and she Is Not To Be Fucked With when it comes to her little ones. She is a full napalm strike in a habit.
I called Sister. Sister harrumphed muttered some suspicious imprecations and told me it would be dealt with.
A half-hour later, OctoBoy and cohorts had their bus woes straightened out.