“That was the old days,” said Pam. “Now all the teachers give out lists of supplies that they expect each child to have, things like floppy disks and calculators and separate notebooks for each subject. Even tissues and spray cleaner for their desks. It adds up, especially if you have three or four kids.”

“We never had to supply all that stuff,” said Rachel.

“That’s because the school provided it, but those days are gone. The school budget has been cut every year and there’s no room for extras.”

“It’s true,” agreed Lucy. “We have to pay a hundred dollars so Sara can be a cheerleader.”

“You’re letting Sara be a cheerleader?” Rachel, a fervent women’s libber, was horrified.

“It’s a sport,” said Lucy, defending her daughter. “You should see the flips and stuff they do.”

Pam rolled her eyes. “It’s simply another example of female submission to male dominance. Why can’t she play football?”

“Football’s so violent,” objected Rachel.

“She doesn’t want to play football, she wants to be a cheerleader,” said Lucy.

“This is getting us off the track,” said Sue. “We all know how difficult it is for many working parents to pay for these required school supplies. The question is, how can we help?”

“I’d like to set up a revolving fund that I could dispense to families as the need arises,” said Pam. “I’m pretty sure that once we get it going we’ll get donations from local clubs and businesses. What we need is some seed money.”

“How much do you need?” asked Rachel.

“Maybe two or three hundred dollars,” said Pam.

They all sat silently, staring at their plates.

“A magazine drive? That way the kids could help themselves,” suggested Lucy.

“The PTA’s got that locked up. We can’t compete with them.”

“How about a giant yard sale,” suggested Rachel. “Why, my cellar alone…”

“No way. What do we do with all the leftover junk?”

“I know,” said Sue. “Let’s have a bake sale.”

“But we haven’t had one in years,” objected Pam.

“I know. That’s why I’m sure it will be a huge hit. People will line up to buy all the goodies they’ve been missing.”

“Like Franny Small’s Congo bars,” sighed Pam. “Remember them?”

“Do I ever,” said Lucy, patting her little tummy bulge. “I think I’m still carrying them around.”

“They were worth it,” said Pam.

“No, no. If I’m going to put an inch on my hips it’s going to be from Marge Culpepper’s coconut cake,” declared Sue.

“How did she get the frosting so light?” asked Lucy.

“It was a real boiled frosting, made with a candy thermometer and everything. So amazing. Nobody cooks like that anymore,” said Pam, with a sigh.