Miss Tanzey arrived midyear last year, replacing Mrs. Jenkins, who was going out on maternity leave, and everyone who had Miss Tanzey just loved her. Miss Tanzey didn’t assign homework during winter or spring break—not like Mrs. Osborne—and she was, by all accounts, a much easier grader, which would be so much better for Jemma, who has begun struggling in school.

It’s not that Jemma’s not bright enough, but she’s just not motivated, and last year her grades really dropped, which sent Nathan through the roof. He took Jemma’s cell phone away from her and grounded her from the computer for nearly a month, but Jemma just sulked and then used Annika’s phone behind her father’s back.

I vowed this year would be different. I vowed that we’d start school on a more positive note, but it’s hard to be as optimistic knowing that we’ve got to deal with the bizarre-o Zinssers again.

“Come on, girls, let’s go shopping.”

The rest of the weekend passes in a blur of picnics, barbecues, and swimming dates at the lake and the country club pool. Kate and Bill have us over for dinner Saturday night. Patti and Donald have a pre–Labor Day party Sunday night. Then some people I don’t know well invited us to a big shindig Monday afternoon, and I wouldn’t have gone except that Gary Locke, the former governor of Washington, was going to be there with his wife and children.

By Monday night, I’m so tired of small talk and smiling that it’s a relief to put the kids to bed.

In our bed, Nathan reaches for me in the dark and I’m about to refuse, citing extreme exhaustion, but then I remember our odd night Friday night and the tension over money. I don’t want tension over sex.

I give in to his kiss. He is such a good kisser, and as his body sinks into mine, I know that at least I’ll climax. I always do. Nathan wouldn’t have it any other way.

The morning arrives along with tears and tantrums. Tori doesn’t want her big sisters going off to school and leaving her alone. “But you’re not alone,” Brooke tells her imperiously. “You’ll be with Annika.” Which of course leads to more tears.

Brooke’s upset because her hair isn’t holding a curl.

Jemma’s upset because her hair won’t stay straight.

I’m upset because I’ve got to get ready, too, and I can’t get dressed or do my hair with everyone screaming in every upstairs bedroom.

But finally by seven forty-five we make it to the car. I’m driving the girls this morning instead of having them take the bus so I can formally introduce myself to Brooke’s and Jemma’s teachers. It’s something I’ve done every year since Jemma started kindergarten, and now it’s a tradition. I always take a little welcoming gift, too. It just helps start the year off on the right foot.

But today I also have the PTA’s Welcome Coffee, and I stack my purse on top of my binder in the backseat of the Lexus. The PTA board puts on the Welcome Coffee for all the parents every year on the first day of school, but usually only a dozen or so women attend. I’ve never understood why more moms don’t attend. It’s an ideal chance to get to know the PTA board and to find out more about this year’s activities and available volunteer positions.

I glance at my watch, wondering where Annika is, even as I recall how several years ago I was responsible for filling all the school’s volunteer positions. That was a job. You’d think more moms would want to be involved. You’d think they’d care.

The girls are in the car, howling that we’re going to be late. I’m standing between the garage and kitchen doors, trying not to scream, and suddenly Annika arrives, sweeping into the house in a flurry of apologies. Instead of jumping on the breakfast dishes, she scoops up Tori and sits on the couch with her to watch Dora. Tori’s getting a little old for Dora the Explorer, and the kitchen needs attention, but I bite my tongue. I just want to get out of the house at this point, and time is of the essence.

By the time we reach Points Elementary, the parking lot is a zoo.