Missed calls

"I'm freaking out. You gotta blog," one of my friends said today. Which was pretty funny, because she said it while I was freaking out about the deserted park giving me claustrophobia. Or agoraphobia. Or sesquipedalophobia, you know, fear of long words.

I blog to be funny. It's a bleak week for the funny crowd. Even Stepford is shaking in its cookie-cutter boots. The local Facebook group wants to know: who vets the Ay-rabs working at the huge construction project in the middle of Stepford? Stepford sixth graders didn't get trained last year, so they just started crossing-guard duty this week. This week? 

The kindergarten moms on my Facebook feed are fighting to get security guards in their schools, even if it means hiring them privately. But there's a run on guards. They report that even if city hall approves privately-paid guards, the security companies are fresh out of trained personnel.

Tel Aviv parents are mapping building sites in and near schools, asking principals to ensure no construction workers come into the schools that are under construction. And with no fanfare, it seems Tel Aviv has put two cops at almost every elementary school and increased security patrols across town.

These are not normal times and we need a plan for parenting in a pressure cooker.

Plan A: Let's not traumatize our kids by changing their schedule. We'll just tell them to text every time they go anywhere.

Go to school? Text. Go to Sea Scouts? Text. Walk the dog? Text. Oh wait. Don't text while you're on the street. Keep alert. Alert for what? Just alert. I'm not traumatizing you by telling you I think even Stepford is vulnerable.

School-bell-plus-one-minute and no text? Call kid thirteen times. No answer? Determine the reason is a terror attack at the junction of Cabinet Minister Street and Mayor Street.

Reload Internet news sites on three different screens simultaneously. Screens are not reporting events on Mayor Street. Stupid, good-for-nothing screens!

Call kid another thirteen times. Check Internet sites again. Check router to determine all screens are connected to outside world. Give in to slight possibility that screens are not reporting anything because nothing happened.

Kid calls at first recess. "Anything wrong Mom? You called 26 times?"

Phone is turned off during lessons.

Twenty-six unanswered calls from Mom won't traumatize them if they forget to text. Nope. Let's not traumatize kids by changing their schedule.

Plan B: Let's drive them everywhere! 

No bikes, several friends mentioned being pro-bike until yesterday, when a Jerusalem 13-year-old was stabbed while biking. No taxis. The freaking-out friend said over the weekend that a kid would have zero chance of surviving a mad taxi driver. No buses. You've heard of the Second Intifada, right?

Let's ignore the fact that Midget needs to be picked up from school in Stepford at 1:30, which is exactly when BigKid is supposed to get from Stepford High to a citywide physics program downtown.

I'm sure if I defy the laws of physics and Waze, I can take Midget with me in the car to pick up BigKid from the physics lab at 3:45.

MidKid finishes school at 3:00 and would normally make her way through the park by bike to gymnastics practice in Outer Stepford by 4:00. But we'll have her wait at school – in the building, not outside on the street of course – until the Stepford-mobile swings up to the north end of town on one of two major arteries. Waze says that trip is 25 minutes at 4:00, but if I weave in and out of traffic, I'm pretty sure I can cut it down to 20 minutes. Mom driving like a madwoman won't traumatize BigKid and Midget at all.

So it's 4:10 and I have all three in the car. It's a short hop to Sea Scouts. Too bad BigKid was supposed to be there at 4:00 and his crew would already be on the water when we show up at 4:20.

Now we're free to glide up to Outer Stepford and drop off MidKid at her 4:00 gymnastics practice. At 4:40, give or take the margin of Waze error and the car crash after I cut corners and cut someone off on Mayor Street.

After gymnastics, we swing back to grab BigKid who presumably spent the last two hours tying knots and scraping barnacles at Sea Scouts' boathouse, since his cronies were sailing before he got there by Stepford-mobile.

All right, now we have all three Stepford Kids and we can all get home by 8:00 and start to make dinner. A zigzagging Stepford Mommy weaving in and out of traffic to arrive everywhere late won't traumatize them. Nope. Let's not traumatize kids by changing their schedule.

Plan C: Do nothing.

I don't take lightly the mountains of stress on my Facebook feed this week. I am not calmer than most of my cohorts, but I can't solve this problem. I can steep my children in my own anxiety, drown them in what-ifs, wrap them in uncertainty, and maybe cause a car crash between Sea Scouts and gymnastics, but I cannot solve this problem.

The only thing I can do is not traumatize them by changing their schedule.

Or I could homeschool them.