The other day, I was running late getting my son to school ,and as I was about to sail out the door, I realized that I was supossed to pack him an art smock. I yelled upstairs to my husband to throw me something out of the donation box, and he tossed down and old blue shirt. My son wore it proudly that day in class, but his teacher looked at me with a little less enthusiasm at pick-up that day. I couldn't figure out why.
Later, I realized with a sinking feeling, that the shirt we gave him (which he flaunted around in around at his very catholic preschool) was from a movie promotion---- it had a huge patch on it that boldly said,
"SWINGERS."
Let me just say, with absolute sincerity, the we are
not swingers. Those of you who are, don't bother with an invitation, thank you. So I yelled for Hubby to come back in and explain himself, and he stated that he already dropped off the donations, and this was all he could find.
"Sweetie," I implored, "we're sending him off to a
Catholic preschool in a smock that screams that we're swingers? They're gonna know we're Protestants!"
"Just tell the teacher the truth," he reasoned. "I won it when I was drunk at a bar in med school."
Oh. Like that's going to go over so much better. Long story short, I quickly discovered a new talent for stitch ripping that morning.
The first day passed uneventfully. I dropped him off, the other mommies and I politely smiled at each other, and went on our way. In the afternoon, we all got there a little early, to prove how responsible we are for our kids. More tight smiles all around. The second day went just the same. But that afternoon, I went to pick him up, and my car died in the parking lot. It's bad enough that I have to drive a freaking minivan, but it then has to die at school, just when all the mommies were trying to prove how composed, together, fashionable and aloof we were.
I'm the one jackass who has to walk up to a car, clear my throat, and ask if the driver has jumper cables. Oh yeah, and I have to ask this person if they'd also mind jumping the thing for me, because I sure as hell don't know how. I purposefully picked a set of grandparents, figuring they'd have a little more sympathy for me. Yeah, right. The man was nice enough to jump the car, but he and everyone else looked at me like I was insane. And to make it all worse, the kids had just started to come down the steps, so the teacher had to hold them all back. Imagine what happens when you have a skittish group of 3 year olds inches away from their mothers, but not allowed to go to them. The sight of 11 three year olds about to lose their shit is awe-inspiring, let me tell you. Oh--- and the car never started--- I had to have it towed. Fabulous.
So the next school day, I made sure I looked extra put-together. I wanted everyone to see that I wasn't the wreck I appeared to be the Tuesday before. I put on my capris, flat ironed my hair, even put on a little lip gloss. I was the first mommy in the parking lot. The babies had fallen asleep in the back, so I pulled the seat lever, and eased backwards to take a nap myself. I heard another car pull up. I peeped my eyes open just enough to see that it was The Grandparents. They pulled in next to me and rolled down their window while I made a great show of not noticing. I dozed off, only to be awakened by my friend Beth, sliding into my passenger seat to keep me company while we waited for our kids.
"Oh, hey," I said, and reached for the lever to pull my seat back upright. The next thing you know, the seat shoots forward, slams me in the temple, and pins me against the steering wheel. The horn blew, spittle flew everywhere. "FuckityfuckityFUCK!," I hissed to myself, and clawed for the lever to pull the seat back.
And of course, there's Grandma, barely concealing a laugh, asking, "Are you alright?"
Fabulous. I'm juuuuust fabulous.
