no. 639 – School Daze

I’m always envious of those of you who talk fondly of their school days. The friends you made and still have; your first crushes; your dances and whatnots.

I hated school. I can only remember the name of my Kindergarten teacher, Mrs. Stingley. She was the antonym of her name. The sweetest and oldest lady. Of course, she was probably only 40 at the time. Actually I remember Mrs. May. Ironically enough, she was a dour hag. I think she was my first grade teacher. And then there was Miss Something who I recall showing up to class with hickeys. Hickeys! She was a young teacher, very sweet. When I heard that she was dating Mr. Romohr, it was my first introduction to the Huzz. *blargh!*

So, yeah. I do remember some of the teachers, I guess.

However, it’s totally not the point of my post. Sorry, I got a little sidetracked.

I figured once I made it to the real world, all that bullshit would be left behind to fade to dust in my aging brain. No one prepared me for the fact I would have to relive all those glory days when you have a kid. XBoy has already had three "years" of school at the tender age of 6. He has also (in no particular order): used his scissors to cut a school-mates shirt ("She always gets to be first!"; popped a kid in the nose ("He was choking me and he wouldn’t stop and none of the teachers would help!"); and of course, was an accomplish in the kidnapping of his "best" friend, Zeke (you’ll love this: the same kid he biffed in the face).

He is already trying to keep up with the Joneses:

"All the kids bring their WebKinz. Can I have a WebKinz?" We gave in, got him the lion, and now he wants the chihuahua (Thank You, Paris Hilton, you stupid, stupid cow), to which I answered, Hell No.

"I hate these pants! No one else wears this color!" Uniform pants need to be tan/khaki. They are just a little darker then his others and refuses to wear them, even though the are the last to not have holes worn in the knees.

Then there’s, "Bigmouth MaGoo says he has a hundred-million-thousand dollars in his bank. How much money do I have?" So we tell him that he has "enough" (even though I think it’d be really freaking awesome to say, "Tell Bigmouth that you have enough to make him your Bitch." except I know that wouldn’t be really appropriate. Or true. But could you imagine Bigmouth going home and telling his parents? "XBoy said I’m going to be his Bitch! Is that good?").

It’s just not XBoy trying to keep up, we as his parents find ourselves trying to make sure we don’t come across as bumbling, mouth-breathing idiots so the other parents don’t think that we are the real life version of Raising Arizona. Unfortunately, we haven’t been very successful.

We have forgotten to pick XBoy up when the school has had an early dismissal; we don’t check the cafeteria menu so there are days he goes without lunch (because they are serving something unholy – like spaghetti – yes, it’s true: we have the only child in the world who hates spaghetti, which also means he won’t eat the "cold" lunch of PB&J since he hates jelly and they won’t make it without); or on holidays we don’t send him to school with treats for the class (May Day baskets, for example); and of course, let’s not forget the participation in the Zeke kidnapping.

This almost blew up in my face last night. I finally had crawled into bed at 9:00 instead of 11:00 like the past couple of nights. For some reason, I thought about XBoy’s backpack and that I hadn’t reviewed the contents. And then I remembered that XBoy was responsible for bringing treats the next day to commemorate the letter "X" (he’s the only kid with an X in his name). "Sonofa…!" said in my best Chris Farley impersonation as I whipped back the covers and headed for the kitchen.

So there I was last night, at 9:30, baking cookies (thank you, Lord, for Pillsbury sugar cookies!), frosting them (thank you, Baby Jesus, for the left over frosting from the letter "M" treat-day!), and stenciling the letter "X" on them with sugar sprinkles (thank you, God, for… uh … sprinkles (?)).

XBoy woke to find that Mommy had pulled it out of her ass, once again. After two decades off from school, it looks like my future will now include another two decades of this crap. I guess I could always home school…with the assumption that I could actually teach my kid Reading, Rite-ing and ‘Rithmatic, which is comical since I can’t even seem to keep him from wiping boogers on his pants.


Chick Update? Both not only made it through 24 hours, but now are on 36 hours healthy, hearty and noisier than two fighting tomcats. After calling my mother I was informed that she had no intent to leave them permanently at our home. She had purchased some pullets and thought XBoy would enjoy a couple of them for a few days. She will stop by Saturday to pick them up.

Good thing. I was trying to figure out how to finance one of these suckers (thanks, Tonya, for the link).