Arriving home ten minutes after dropping my tribe off at three different schools, I sink into a kitchen chair. Why do I feel so tired? All I did was hustle five kids into the car and drive around town.
Suddenly, my cell phone rings. I look at the screen. “Private High” pops up. It’s Jungkook and Janna’s school. I answer it, “Hello.”
“Mrs. Franklin?”
“This is she.”
“Mrs. Franklin, you need to come pick up your son. He is dressed inappropriately for school. He wore his sister’s skirt today.”
Before I can even think, these words pop out of my mouth, “Are you questioning my son’s gender identity?” I ask this while my mind reels.
What on earth was my son thinking? He’s always trying to attract girls. Why would he wear Janna’s skirt to school? To his PRIVATE school. Worse yet. How on earth did I not notice that my son was wearing a skirt when we left the house?!!!!! Was I brain dead?
Silence is greeting me on the other end of the line. I sigh then continue, “I have no idea why my son would wear a skirt. Can you put him on the phone please?”
“Mom?” It’s Jungkook’s quiet voice.
“Jungkook, what on earth were you thinking?”
“Mom…I don’t have any clean pants. Nobody did my laundry this weekend.”
“What you mean is: you didn’t do your laundry this weekend! I reminded you Friday night. And Saturday night.”
“I couldn’t figure out how to use the new washing machine.”
“Why didn’t you ask me?”
I can just see him cringing. “Because I forgot to do it until late last night. You were already asleep. I didn’t want to disturb you.”
“Jungkookie,” I respond, exasperated. Wrapping my mind around this alternate universe is so hard. How do I adjust to a world where everything Jungkook does isn’t cute?
“I figured I’d still be following dress code if I wore one of Janna’s skirts.”
“How? How did you think that wearing a girl’s uniform was going to help you follow the boys’ dress code?”
“I don’t know. But we were running late. I didn’t know what else to do.”
“Are you suspended?”
“No. They just want me to change my clothes. My teacher said I need to come home and do my laundry.”
“I agree. I’ll be there in ten minutes to pick you up.”
“I’ll meet you at the entrance.”
“See you soon, Kookie.” I pause, uncertain what to say for a moment. Then suddenly, other such moments surface in my memory. “I love you, Kookie.”
“Love you, Mom,” he whispers so quietly that I almost don’t hear it. My heart melts. Even as I go to rescue my eldest son from his fashion faux pas.
