Unexpectedly complex

You know how something seems really simple to you because you do it every day, but then when you describe it to someone, it starts to seem so complicated that you despair of their ever being able to do it themselves?

I'll bet all the parents out there know what I mean, because they've had to describe the pickup or dropoff procedures at their school to grandparents or other surrogates at some point. In my case, it involves driving on the wrong side of the road temporarily so that you don't get sucked into the line of cars going to middle school, and judging when you are safely "in the zone" so your kids can get out of the car but not too far back so you're keeping other cars from getting "in the zone."

Everything went smoothly, except that Cady Gray somehow ended up at the school office at pickup time instead of in the cafeteria where she was supposed to be. Mom was convinced that was because she can't find her way around the school yet, but I believe that the note I wrote, in an excess of caution, informing the teacher that her grandparents would be picking her up somehow was interpreted to meant that she shouldn't go where she normally does. No indication that this caused any upset on Archer's part, though, which is always my main concern when the routine breaks down.

When I got home at 4 pm, Archer was playing Uno with his grandpa and Cady Gray was insulating herself from losing by keeping score. Granny Lou fixed us a terrific meal of tilapia (which Cady Gray loved and Archer sampled with relative enthusiasm), asparagus (ditto and ditto), and squash casserole (yep and yep).

Archer brought home no homework to do, but a big stack of Scholastic Books that truly delighted him (especially Greater Estimations, the sequel to one of the library books he requests over and over). And he reports that he got a prize for getting the most books in the book order -- a prize that I feel is rightfully mine.