Phone number

Neko came home from school the other day with a big frown.

When I asked what was wrong, she grumbled that today in class she was the only one who didn’t know her phone number.

I know. I KNOW. That’s stuff I should have taught them in preschool. I had this big plan that I would sing it every day in the car on the way to school, but then on the way to school we were making sure everyone had their lunch and backpack and then they were out the door. We really don’t live that far from school, and I’m not really on my A game in the morning, so maybe that wasn’t the best plan.

And then I thought maybe we’d recite it over dinner every night.

But it never happened, and suddenly I’m the guilt-ridden parent of three children who don’t know their own phone number. (They know their address—do I get points for that?)

As I wallowed in my self-pity, I wandered over to my blog feed and read about my friend Kate D., who in the midst of her three children’s sickness, began writing the times of their medications on the bathroom mirror to keep them all straight. And then I had my a-ha moment. Why not write our phone number on their bathroom mirror? Then every time they wash their hands or brush their teeth, they’ll see it. Ultimately, it has to sink in, right?

Two days later, and two of the three can recite their phone number from memory.

I think next I’m moving on to the word of the day or tricky math problems. Or quantum physics.

(On a side note, I think it’s time replace the bathroom word labels.)