Rough First Week of School
Real Estate Dad: You need to give up on this school stuff.
Me: It’s only been a couple days!
Real Estate Dad: I know, and it’s driving you crazy.
Me: You said I’m not paying enough attention to the kids so I get involved in their school, join a committee and become a class mom to be more present instead of working all the time. Now you’re telling me to give it up?
Real Estate Dad, laughing: I’ve seen enough. Go back to how you were.
He might be right. The outrage. The sheer outrage I have felt this week having to deal with some, um, really stupid ideas. Home Schooling is starting to look real damn good.
M started school on Monday. She was excited! She had a great first day. The second night of school, her teacher sent home a folder with a bunch of papers for parents to read. One of them said that instead of doing individual birthday celebrations, they are going to do one big party for everyone, with the date to be announced.
I almost did it. I almost got a sharpie and wrote in giant letters, “I LOVE THIS! THANK YOU!!!” See, I’m burned out from these birthday parties. I’m burned out from driving 100 miles to get to a party. I’m burned out from having an entire weekend day hijacked with a birthday when I am a Real Estate Agent and when do houses sell? NIGHTS AND WEEKENDS PEOPLE! Every time I get an invite for the girls that involves chartering a jet, I can’t do it. (Unless of course, I like the mom and want to see her, because it’s all about me.) But, we just don’t have this kind of time in our days, or in our lives.
Day 3, another letter comes home. It says, “Due to the response from parents, we will be celebrating individual birthdays.” Um, can we analyze this for a moment, and can we do it from the teacher’s point of view?
Having 20 some odd celebrations is time-consuming. It’s disruptive. It’s also a pain in the ass for parents who have kids with allergies who have to then wake up at the crack of crack to make something that’s allergen-free for their child to enjoy. M is fortunate to not have allergies, but her bestie? She’s allergic to eggs. Eggs! Eggs are in pretty much every birthday cake that I know of, and the reason I know this is because once, in junior high school, I made a cake from scratch and forgot the eggs. And yes, my family never let me forget that incident. “Remember the cake Melissa made when she forgot the eggs? yukyukyuk.” That thing came out of the oven like a brick.
(My dad and I still ate it.)
I messaged the teacher and apologized and said I thought it was a fantastic idea. She said she was surprised there was such a response to it. Special snowflakes is all I can think. People want their kids recognized on their day of eviction from the womb. I wish I could say I get it, but I don’t. I also have kids with summer birthdays who participate in the end of year / summer birthday celebration with all the other summer birthdays. If they can do a joint party, can’t the other kids? Come on, snowflakes.
On Day 4, Chubs started Pre-K. Despite the tears and that they had to surgically remove her from me, she loved it and did well. That evening we all received an email from an irate parent that they saw mice poop in the cubby room. I wasn’t outraged. I frankly didn’t care and moved on to the next email pretty quickly.
Later on, I notice this mouse email thing is picking up steam. Another parent joined in and told everyone this was a crash course in DC Public Schools and we ALL needed to email the Principal, Vice Principal, the Chancellor’s Office, and anyone else they could think of.
You would have thought John Wayne Gacy and Wayne Williams were in there playing dress up and reading books to the kids. The emails continued unabated with updates on what these two parents were doing to help. Except, no one asked them.
Finally I couldn’t help it and I jumped in to explain that I have had mice in every house where I’ve lived, and it’s not a big deal and everyone needs to just dial this back a few notches. Nope, rabid dogs will turn in a moment, and they both spit venom in my direction, asking what kind of place I grew up in that had mice?
Them’s fighting words.
Um. I grew up here. The town of billionaires. And we had mice! In fact, one of the favorite quotes in our house, coined back in the 1990’s is, “Why did you eat half a chocolate bar and throw it under the dining room table?” To which my brother replied, “Think about what you just asked me…” Then we inspected the Toberlone Bar and saw tiny tiny teeth bites. We had a mouse. What ensued was an entire winter of a witch hunt. That little stinker could NOT be caught. He was snapped in a trap and he dragged his bloody carcass across the living room and went back into the hole from where he came, leaving the trap leaning against the baseboard.
Anyway, because the first mouse poop complainer bitched and moaned so much, they decided to move the Pre-K class out to a trailer class in the parking lot. Then DC Real Estate Mama lost her shizz. I replied in the email and said that because of her, a decision was made by the school to quiet her down and it affects all of our children.
Between animal rescue world and now school-momming it, I really have had enough of the crazy. I’ve got zero tact or ability to be PC. Someone tried to surrender an aggressive dog with a heart issue and only a couple years to live and I about lost my crap on him. I told him he needs to keep his damn dog and see it through to the end of its life instead of making it someone else’s problem. No one is going to adopt that dog, and no one is going to take on the medical expenses for a dog who stands little chance of survival.
I should delete my email accounts before I really tell someone to go to hell.