My kid’s attend a sweet little country school called Monocacy Elementary, here in the Agricultural Reserve of Montgomery County, Maryland. I love this school. It’s small, rural, and innocent. It’s well-supported. It’s full of tradition. It’s campy.
I love campy.
This week, the school is having its Spring Book Fair to earn money for the school. My kids get SO excited. We plan out a budget beforehand, they figure out what they wish to have, and we play the “I can’t afford it game” even though we all know I’m going to buy every book I can afford on the list. I’m all about words and reading and imagination and entertainment that doesn’t leave one slack-jawed while holding a Wii remote.
So why do I play the “I can’t afford it” game?
It’s a Scottish thing.
What is so dagnab frustrating is that every stinkin time I attend the school’s book fairs, I end up buying another cookbook. Every. Stinkin. Time.
I have enough cookbooks. I do not need any more cookbooks.
What I need is books on exercise and books on how to effectively manage my time.
And books on how to get grease spots out of blouses.
But I’ll go this week, and I’ll probably by another cookbook.
And the kids will make their list that I will claim to be too poor to fulfill, but will fulfill anyways. It’s what we do.
Tradition. It’s a beautiful thing.