Starts with K

There is nothing like a back-to-school shopping trip to really solidify the end of summer.

While I know that technically summer lasts for another month, it’s as good as gone for me.

Throw in the conclusion of the Steele County Free Fair, and I might as well be raking leaves and drinking hot chocolate.

It’s a tradition with our Minnesota grandchildren that Granny Kay – yes, I know it’s very … Beverly Hillbillies, but those pips could call me Fat Granny and I would sill adore them – hauls them around to hunt for school supplies.

Afterwards, we eat at Applebees.

Woe to the child who, two years ago, suggested we go to McDonalds. She was nearly shouted out of the vehicle.

My poor husband, who this year asked if he could come along, was hurt by the length of time it took me to answer.

While it’s not Arby’s Christmas™, it is a tradition nonetheless.

This year, four of the five local descendants are of school age, and in a significant departure from the norm, the shopping was completed with more than mere hours to spare.

This is no joke: We have, in previous years, resorted to tracking down notebooks at the grocery store, pencils at the convenience store, and backpacks at a (gulp) outdoor equipment store.

It’s always an adventure, though their parents might prefer to call it unkind things, like “unnecessarily stressful” or “a last-minute disaster.”

Still. We get all the things, all the bips and bobs, all the pastel paper clips and giant rubber-band balls and shark-shaped pencil sharpeners.

It is less chaotic than it might seem. There is an order to everything: Who gets first pick of Granny’s fancy colored pens to cross items off their list. Who gets to find their supplies first. Who gets to do the self-checkout first. Who gets to show the parents their stuff first.

I like to think of it as easing them back into the school year, because they really do have to follow directions. They have to compromise. They have to be kind. They have to do some math.

This year, they had to learn what a 13-pocket expanding file folder is. That fifth-grade classroom is going to look like an insurance agency at first glance, folks.

But mostly, they have to have fun. I told them when they no longer enjoy the experience, they could stay home. This year, we had a high school freshman who showed no signs of quitting – but a kindergartener who did.

In his defense, it is a lot of action and a little bit of yelling.

After I dropped them all off at home, it was incredibly quiet in the car. While I was grateful that the never-ending alphabet game was over, I was also grateful that we really do have fun. There’s enough stress and pain and fear in everyone’s world, and who needs that?

And almost miraculously, one of them forgot their Applebee's leftovers, which worked out great.

My husband, waiting inside, enjoyed them.