Dirty Little Secret

Every time I bring Ironflower to school, I thank the gods that she’s in her particular class. It’s not just that she has a veteran teacher or that the kids in her class are all very sweet. It’s that none of the moms freak me out. They are all nice and normal and sane. And that’s saying a lot around here.

There are a lot of disturbing women around Stuck-Up and a large number of them seem to have children at Ironflower’s preschool. So every time I go to drop off or pick up I see these women and cringe. And shudder. And begin to sweat. Much like I am having an anxiety attack. I don’t know whether it’s that I fear turning into them or that I fear having to make small talk with them, but the reaction is much the same.

Maybe I’m over-reacting. I sort of hope I am. That’s where you come in. I’m going to describe the women and you’re going to tell me if they would make you nervous too. Well, you don’t have to tell me. I just mean that I’d appreciate it.

The Women Who Make Me Nervous (in no particular order):

1. The woman who had a meltdown when her two healthy sons drank out of the same cup.

2. The woman who wears the white fur coat, sweatpants and mules to drop off and pick up.

3. The woman who spent the parent meeting going off about the waste accumulated by using juice boxes. . . .and then went out and got into her Hummer.

4. Missy.

5. The woman who wears her hottie tennis outfit (short skirt and short sleeved-shirt) and nothing else to drop off and pick up. In January. In New Jersey.

6. The woman who routinely backs her Lexus SUV out of a parking space while talking on the phone, drinking Starbucks, rifling through her purse and without looking in her mirrors.

7. The woman who regularly steps in front of the children filing into a classroom so that she can talk to the teacher, regardless of established classroom and politeness procedures. She then blocks the door for the first five minutes of the school day.

8. The woman who wears the full-length mink coat and sweat pants when volunteering.

9. The woman who said, “Well, he sure has a lot of free time” about one of the regular pick up/drop off dads.

10. The women who wear spike heeled/pointy toed boots, spackle-level make-up, creased jeans and designer tops to go to the preschool and the grocery store.

Those women are weird, right? It’s not me, is it?

First of all, an apology to everyone who has left me comments lately that I have not replied to - I promise I’m going to try. My rapidly worsening cold is making life difficult. Also, thank you to Marci for being nice enough to tag me, I would do the crazy 8’s meme again if I felt at all creative. But all I feel is grouchy. And achy.

Today was “Trunk or Treat” at Ironflower’s school. All the parents decorate their trunks and pass out candy or whatever to the kids, who are led through by their teachers. Naturally, I felt like our trunk was inadequately decorated because dropping two hundred bucks for Halloween decorations for our CAR is not only out of our price range, it’s out of our sanity range. I tried to get over myself, but Lovebug made it difficult. He would not stop screaming.

Nothing made him happy. Thank Goddess Hubby was there and able to parent Ironflower - take photos of the costume parade, pass out the candy, change her out of her costume and bring her back to class because all I did was try to deal with the screaming Lovebug. Oh, and not stick my tongue out at the woman parked next to us.

Her name is Missy and she’s the ultimate Alphamom. She’s the one who snidely referred to one of the sign-up sheets I’d made for Ironflower’s class as “unneccessary and overachieving” (this from a woman who wrote out copy for all of the class parents to use at our beginning of the year parent meetings). When I volunteered that the sign up sheet was mine and that I’d thought I was following policy, she was condescendingly conciliatory.

Ever since then, she gives me a pitying smile whenever she sees me. So when she saw me with the screaming Lovebug, she tried to help by offering a stroller and suggesting his teeth might hurt. As if we hadn’t thought of that? I tried to tell myself that I was being paranoid and concentrated on Lovebug. We strolled away from the trick-or-treating avenue.

Now, I have to admit that what happened next is partially my fault. Hearing from other moms about how they were making treat BAGS and passing out PlayDough, I sort of panicked when choosing what to pass out. I didn’t have the budget, inclination or time to make 60 treat bags for Ironflower’s classmates. So I bought a huge bag of many different kinds of treats, thinking that the kids could pick their favorites. Well, two of the items in the bag had peanuts. And we are a peanut-free school. Ooops. So Missy confiscated the Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups from Hubby and gave him some of her own tattoos (we actually still had enough candy, but whatever).

I felt stupid and embarrassed. Missy kept sighing and shaking her head at us, and/or whispering about us with the mom in the car on the other side. Lovebug kept screaming. I tried to get pictures of Ironflower trunk-or-treating. I felt even worse when I saw that practically everyone was passing out treat bags or treat cups of stuff. Hubby just calmly passed out candy.

Before leaving, we thanked Missy. Hubby was a little sarcastic about it, in defense of my honor. But I cut him off. I felt like I had really screwed up and deserved her derision (this time).

After Hubby went to work and we finished lunch, we went through Ironflower’s treats. (The treat bags are immediately confiscated by the parents after trunk-or-treat so that there is no sneaking of candy, which might disrupt the ensuing class party) I was delighted to find the kind of cheap, crappy candy that my first graders would always reject. Maybe I didn’t do a cutesy treat bag, but what kid would choose a bag with two DumDum lollipops and two stickers over a KitKat bar? That’s when I realized the whole trunk or treat thing is not just about the children.

And I was even more delighted to discover a peanut-ridden Snickers bar. That we hadn’t given out. So we weren’t the only ones to screw up. Not that it matters as much when the kids don’t get to have the treats unless their parents give them to them. But I still hope Missy’s kid got a Snickers too.

Hubby thinks Ironflower’s attendance at school is too stressful for me. I think maybe I just need a other moms to remind me that Missy is an idiot.

Apparently I am a bad mother in ways I didn’t even know about.

Picking up Ironflower from school today was ALMOST pleasant (For the reasons why this is such a big deal, go here. . Or here. After exhausting Lovebug at a new park, he conveniently fell asleep in the car. He even stayed asleep when I pulled into Ironflower’s school to park. I left him sleeping and ventured to the playground. Ironflower ran to me happily. Mrs. G gave her a big hug good-bye and praised her outgoing nature (making all those stupid sign-up sheets I had to create for the Halloween party worth it). All was so right with the world that Ironflower and I paused on the sidewalk to chat about her day.

And that’s when I saw one little boy take his brother’s cup and drink from it. They too were paused on the sidewalk, though their mom was chatting with other moms, not them. Anyway, the brother protested and the mom flipped. She shrieked about the perils of drinking from other people’s cups and proceeded to wipe down the cup with an alcohol wipe before handing it back to the original owner.

You know what I do when Lovebug takes Ironflower’s cup and drinks from it? I grab it back from him and give it to her. Or sometimes I give her his. I just never thought it was a big deal. Ever since the first time a six month old Ironflower grabbed the straw of my Diet Coke and started drinking, I’ve been very lax about the family sharing cups. I never realized it was a battle I should have been fighting.

Will I ever leave that school without being emotionally scarred?

Yesterday when I went to pick Ironflower up from school, Mrs.G told me all about what a good day and a good disposition she had. She did mention her stubborn streak, (I think it’s more like a stubborn column, but teachers are supposed to be positive) but she also talked about how well Ironflower has adjusted to school, how well she got along with everyone and that she’d been the line leader that day. I’d never heard so much detail about Ironflower’s day before. Then Mrs.G mentioned that she had a list of things she wanted for the Halloween party - could she run in and get it so I could organize everything?

Of course I said sure.

If I have to be the Martha Stewart of class mothers so that my daughter gets treated properly, than that’s how it’ll be. Because I am now totally convinced that Mrs.G’s favorites are those whose parents help Mrs.G. And while that ticks me off in so many ways there’s not a lot I can do about it. Except be super-helpful.

I learned a lot about Ironflower yesterday. We went out to lunch with a few moms and kids from her class, then we all went to a park. The other moms reported how much they heard about Ironflower from their kids - what they like to play together, how much they all like her hair, how funny she is. Which is great, but I couldn’t reciprocate. Ironflower says nothing about the other kids, except that they are all her friends and she plays with all of them. I’m not sure if this is sweet or if she is already campaigning for prom queen.

Today I brought Ironflower to school a little bit early. I had to hang up some notices on her class’ bulletin board, responsible class mother that I am. And I had to borrow Mrs.G’s stapler to do it.

I popped my head in and asked, simply mentioning that I had to post some class mommy stuff. A few minutes later Mrs. G opened the door and gave Ironflower the warmest welcome I have ever seen. She got a hug and a comment about her cute outfit (her shirt said, “Tiaras make you taller”, and its pink matched the pink flowers on her jeans - I love that outfit). I thought to myself, hmmmmm, that’s quite a change.

Lovebug and I went about our day and then went to pick up Hubby for the school pick up. Hubby has been dying to check out the situation, as he thinks I’m being paranoid about Mrs.G’s behavior. He went to the playground to get Ironflower while I watched Lovebug sleep in his carseat.

Ironflower got a hug from Mrs.G and Hubby got lots of positive comments about her behavior. Now Hubby is convinced that I’ve been paranoid and overly critical. I’m equally convinced that Mrs.G has put Ironflower on favorite status now that she’s realized I’m a class mother and could make her class parties a living hell.

(Class parties suck for teachers and never believe for one second that they enjoy them. I once blew off a Valentine’s Day date in favor lying on a colleague’s couch with a six pack after a class party.)

I know I should feel bad that Mrs.G is getting away with playing such favorites. But more than anything I’m relieved that Ironflower is getting the affection she deserves. I can’t believe I’ve turned into one of THOSE mothers. (In my defense, though, I will say that at least I stopped Lovebug from throwing mulch at the park today, even though he was enjoying himself immensely.)

parenting

preschool

I had my doubts this morning. Mrs.G was busy talking to someone not related to any of the children in her class and didn’t greet Ironflower when she walked in. It probably pissed me off more because when I was a teacher, no child ever walked into my classroom without being greeted. Even if I was talking to administrator. (This may have contributed to my last principal calling me disrespectful, but since he was found guilty of embezzling from the school I don’t take his opinion very seriously. But that’s another post.) As I captured Lovebug, I noticed Mrs. G end her conversation in time to greet the other children.

Needing to calm down, I decided to drive Lovebug to a faraway park. On one of the curves, I noticed what looked like a police car hiding behind the bushes up ahead. Since I was going the speed limit, I should not have worried. But I started to hyperventilate when the cop car pulled out behind me. Now, I may have had some reasons to fear the police in the past (So I used to speed. And my tags were expired for three years. Sue me.), but not anymore. I hardly ever speed. My car is tagged through 2009. Yet I couldn’t stop worrying. I decided to pull on to a side street.

When the cop car followed me, I gasped loudly enough for Lovebug to stop turning his toy steering wheel (which then stopped the incessant and annoying song it plays, so that part was a blessing). As the cop glanced at me, taking in my headband and polo shirt, he kept driving. I took a few deep breaths.

Lovebug was happy enough at the park. At least until he discovered my car keys in the diaper bag, grabbed them and headed for the gate. I figured he was ready to go so I followed him. But what he really wanted to do was play in the driver’s seat in the car. I let him, especially after he showed me which key goes in the ignition. I don’t know how he knows this. Maybe he’s a car savant?

Anyway, I made sure that he fell asleep on the way back to Ironflower’s school. I left him in the car and nervously approached the playground. It was fun to watch Ironflower play. As the kids were gathered for dismissal, Ironflower started saying “Mama! Mama!” in a happy voice. I figured that whatever happened after that, Ironflower was happy to see me.

Mrs. G called Ironflower first. Mrs. G did not say good-bye to her (that’s another pet peeve I have as a former teacher. All my students got good-byes too). After we had hugged hello and gathered her school bag, I told Ironflower to say good-bye to her teacher. I told her in such a loud voice that Mrs. G actually looked at us. And said good-bye. I even got a comment about what a great day Ironflower had had.

So I’ve learned that I will not bring Lovebug with me to the school playground. I’ve learned that I will teach Mrs.G to treat ALL of her students kindly.

Oh yeah, I’ve also learned that the cops are not out to get me.

preschool

transitions

I think Ironflower is going to have to go to a different preschool next year. We had another meltdown at dismissal today, but it wasn’t really her fault. Her improvement last week had made us all so happy. I guess I got cocky (why does it have to be cocky? Why can’t it be breasty or vulvanic or something?).

My first mistake was allowing Lovebug to come to the gate with me. He was wide awake and I felt so bad leaving him in the car as he said, “Mama, mama, go,”. We got out at 11:28 am and strolled to the gate. Lovebug let me carry him in the parking lot and was pretty chill when we got to the playground gate. A few moms even said hi to us.

Ironflower came to the gate and smiled and waved. Instinct told me to grab her right then, but years of teaching made me want to follow the rules. So I told her to go sit with the other kids (the teachers sit them on benches near the gate and then call names to dismiss). That was when the trouble started.

Because Mrs.G didn’t notice my daughter behaving appropriately. She didn’t notice Lovebug and me standing at the gate. She ignored us. And we waited. And Lovebug wanted to get down. Then he wanted to run away. Then, well, basically he wanted on that playground because Ironflower wasn’t coming out.

Ironflower, meanwhile, waited for Mrs. G to call her name. She watched her brother melt down. When ALL the other kids had been dismissed, Mrs. G called to Ironflower. Because Ironflower didn’t pop right up, Mrs. G scooped her up and started walking her to the gate. That’s when Ironflower started screaming.

Of course we had a nice audience again. This time, though, I didn’t even attempt to hold the kids appropriately. As I was about to sprint to the car, minimizing my humiliation time, Lovebug kicked off his shoe. One mom grabbed it and even put it back on for me, as I held onto both kicking and screaming kids. This mom deserves a special place in heaven and someday I will tell her so. Today all she got was an over-the-shoulder “thank you” as I raced to the car.

Lovebug was fine once he was strapped in and hand his talking steering wheel. Not that it didn’t require superhuman strength to strap him in. Exhausted, I went to Ironflower’s side and asked her what the hell her problem was. (Okay, I didn’t say that, exactly, but she knew what I meant). Ironflower had started to cry because she had wanted to walk to me herself and the teacher hadn’t let her. She was sad she hadn’t gotten to be a big girl.

After Ironflower was safely strapped in, I went back to the playground. The teacher was inside, but the school director was there. I told her the problem. I hope things are better on Thursday. Well, I’ll make a big deal out of it if they’re not. Part of me thinks I’m paranoid to think Mrs.G doesn’t like us, part of me has seen a few teachers who have favorites (those would be the children of all the class mothers who told me how great she is) and not-favorites. And treat them accordingly.

I hope I’m wrong.

preschool
tantrums
teacher favorites

As I may have mentioned (here and to every other mother I’ve talked to in the past two weeks) Ironflower has been having a hard time leaving school. In fact, she has behaved better receiving shots than she has leaving school lately. On Tuesday, even though I made sure to drive around a bit so that Lovebug would fall asleep and thus stay in the car and I brought her juice, when I got to the playground Ironflower reacted the same old way. She screamed “No!” at the sight of me.

I did try not to take it personally. I really did. But I still cried on the way home. Though not as much as last time. I couldn’t help it. This resulted in her receiving a rather stern talking to from a sympathetic Hubby. And a suggestion for how to react when school is over and Mommy comes to pick her up. But I didn’t think it would help enough. So when I put her to bed that night (after I had calmed down considerably), I decided to really talk to her about it. Calmly, like you’re supposed to. She couldn’t verbalize her feelings, but I did find out (for sure) that it wasn’t about me, it WAS that she liked school. So I told her a story about some of her favorite characters that included the whole situation.

And then Shrek, of course, learned to act the way I wished Ironflower would. And they lived happily ever after. I told her the same story Wednesday night. And reminded her of it in the car this morning. Just in conversation, of course. All natural-like. (Thank the Goddess that pre-schoolers thrive on repetitive conversations)

And today, when Ironflower saw me and her teacher began sending kids out of the gate, she smiled and ran to me and gave me a big hug. And I only feel slightly guilty about manipulating her to do so.

parenting

preschool behavior

So on one of the many forms I filled out for Ironflower’s preschool, I indicated that I would be willing to be a class mother. I thought I just said I would help when I could, but maybe my willingness to help at all qualified me for class motherhood.

Now, the whole idea of “class mother” ticks me off in the way “policeman” and “fireman” do - why assume a gender when there are perfectly viable options (police officer and firefighter, class PARENT)? But, this is Bergen County - where the men work long hours in the city and the women wear cute clothes to go to the park (yes, I’m totally generalizing, but I grew up here, I can). Only a handful of fathers even showed up for the back to school night, so it doesn’t surprise me that all the class parents are women. It just surprises me that they ASSUME that’s how it will be.

I went to the initial meeting with trepidation, not having gotten high-heeled sandals or a manicure recently. Fortunately, the women were more casually dressed this time (maybe because they knew there’d be no men there?) and everyone seemed nice enough. But my Goddess, what a lot of work there is. Fundraisers galore, field trips and class parties to plan. My co-class mom and I are having our parent meeting next week (yes, each class has to have its own meet and greet, as if back to school night and drop offs and pick ups were not enough).

This meeting will be to hit everyone up for money. Yeah, that’ll be fun. Can’t wait.

I’m sure part of my shock at the duties of class parents comes from my teaching experience in the ‘hood. We never had official class parents, we barely had a PTA. And while I had many wonderful and helpful parents, none of them planned things for me. Or ran the fundraisers for me. Or bought me gifts. Or did half the stuff I’m going to have to do.

class mother
nursery school

I didn’t cry. Ironflower didn’t cry. Hubby didn’t cry. But Lovebug threw a fit when we left Ironflower at preschool today. As we got her settled in, Lovebug discovered the Lego table. I think we could have left both of them there.

But we dragged Lovebug out and left Ironflower playing happily.

Hubby was convinced that we’d come back to discover that she’d thrown a fit when she didn’t get her way. I was worried that she’d be pouting in a corner (because she didn’t get her way).

Apparently, though, she was fine (except that she refused to have her picture taken, big surprise). . .at least until we got there. As soon as we arrived she was rude and unfriendly to her teachers and refused to talk to us. She did let me pick her up, but she was in a bad mood. I think the shortened day actually made it harder for her - she’s not good at quick transitions.

Eventually she opened up, but it took a good half an hour. Interestingly, she drank milk at school - she NEVER does that at home. I’m hoping this bodes well for potty training. She also made pictures of (discernible) happy and sad faces and told us that she sang a song. She told her grandparents that she played with Ryan and Jillian. She’s willing to go back on Thursday.

I’m not exactly sure how I will manage to deposit her lovingly and drag a screaming Lovebug out by myself on Thursday. But I guess I’ll worry about that on Thursday.