In New York, where I live, public school stays in session until nearly the last day of June, so it's only the first week of July that truly feels like summer.
And since this is a column about going places with kids, I would be remiss if I did not note that summer vacation offers, among other things, a break from one of the most memorable types of travel with children–the venerable school trip.
If you've ever accompanied your child on a school trip, you know that parent chaperones play many different roles.
You're a traffic cop, literally stopping buses and trucks and taxis from mowing down the stragglers in a group of 8-year-olds who can't make it across crosswalks before the light changes.
You're a lunch cop, scolding anybody who's eating the cookie or the candy before the sandwich and the fruit. And sometimes you're a lunch fairy, buying lunch or sharing yours with a kid who forgot.
You're a referee, stepping in between a couple of kids getting out of hand with their roughhousing, or trying to make peace when an argument arises about who is really whose best friend.
You're an assistant teacher, helping with art projects, note-taking in the museum, and outdoor adventures like relay races and rock-climbing.
You're a comforter, wiping noses and the occasional tear, and supplying Band-Aids for boo-boos.
You're a navigator, guiding lost bus drivers or teachers new to the area through unfamiliar neighborhoods to the class destination.
And if you're really unlucky, you may end up being the hazmat technician, cleaning up after the kid who threw up on the bus or who didn't make it to the bathroom in time.
I can deal with all of these roles without too much anxiety, although I don't relish the hazmat job. But there is one situation on class trips that I find particularly nerve-wracking, and that is The Count.
You count how many kids there are just before you leave the school., You double-count to be sure. But the scariest moment on any class trip is when you do a recount upon arrival at your destination, or after the subway doors close, or after you're on the school bus. The kids may be milling around, so that you're counting one kid twice as he moves from spot to spot; you may miss one who bends down to tie a shoe or who's off in the bathroom.
Either way, the worst feeling in the world is to know that you left school with 29, and now you're only coming up with 28. You count again and you get 29–whew, what a relief! But then you wonder, was I wrong the second time? Maybe there really is one missing. So you recount, and get the magic 29 again, but how can you be sure? There are times when I've done that count 10 times in 10 minutes, just to be 100 percent certain that we didn't leave someone in the American Indian wing at the Museum of Natural History or on the subway.
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THIS WEEK'S ADVICE: If you're going on a class trip, be prepared to be a cop, a comforter, a navigator and a teacher's helper. Wear clothes that you don't mind getting stained with someone's spilled juice box. Check the directions yourself the night before in case the teacher or bus driver needs help. Bring tissues and Band-Aids, and maybe something extra in your own lunch, in case a child forgets his. Step in to help referee conflicts, don't be afraid to use your most authoritative tone of voice, and finally, do those ever-important counts at every juncture in the journey.
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