the whore of babylon goes to kindergarten

… and is like, um, underwhelmed at the um, education her um, daughter will be like um, getting next year. 


I was really excited about taking The Girl to her kindergarten orientation last week. The Husband took the morning off and The Boy was going to come with us, so it was a big ol’ family affair, even though we all sort of knew that things with The Boy might go awry since no one remembered to bring the Bag O’ Fun which was created for just such occasions but failed to make the transfer from the old car to the new SUV, which had been purchased a mere 6 days prior. Things were going really, really well. Surprisingly so, since everyone was awake, properly fed (not just crackers in the bedroom, hold your applause), bathed and dressed (again, no applause please, I am merely a mother caring for her children), and I had even blown out my hair and was putting on real makeup at 9:35am. Okay, it wasn’t a full blow-out, but that takes like 1 ½ hours and we had to be out of the house and in the car by 9:50am. And then I decided to sharpen my eyeliner. I know better than to sharpen my fabulous eyeliner (and here, I will advertise for Clinique, freely, since they have the most awesomest eyeliner ever. Only eyeliner that has never made me look like a raccoon by the middle of my day. Worth every penny.) and then apply directly to the lower lashline. Lower lashes require a slightly DULLED point. After five minutes of trying to fix the mess I had made, smudge-cover-reline-shit!-repeat, I looked like some strange hybrid of Cleopatra and the Whore of Babylon. Fabulous. My kid gets to have the white trash whorey mom.

Turns out I was way less noticeable than the cool rockin’ mom with the star tats up and down her arm. (I wonder if her kid listens to the Ramones and the Clash as much as mine kid does? ) Not to mention, The Boy took all the attention away from everyone when he had a lovely little tantrum upon being informed that No, he could not play with the crayons and marker in the classroom where we were sitting for the orientation because they belonged to the students and had not been put there for him as he had presupposed.

The Husband removed The Boy and I was left with The Girl to listen to the 20-something kindergarten teacher with the bedhead-that-takes-a-lot-of-careful-styling hair and style-by-Gap wardrobe, and don’t forget the not-beard-and-mustache but sort of face-framing facial-hair/stubble landscaping thing, talk about the great education my kid was going to um, get. The words “um” and “like” were um, like, falling out of his mouth so frequently I started flashing on the movie Valley Girl. It was not pleasant. Add that to the fresh understanding that my child will be adding(!) and subtracting(!) and reading(!) by the end of the year, and I was sort of wishing that I could throw a tantrum like The Boy and start wailing “But my kid can already do that! She’s doing elementary base 10 math and reading at a 3rd grade level! What is SHE going to learn this year?” Yeah, um, like, social skills? Maybe. Or maybe she’ll be bored out of her skull and have behavioral problems. Or maybe she’ll be the kid who always has the right answer who earns the animosity of her peers? Like, um, what then?

On the upside, Mr. Like-um will not be The Girl’s teacher (thank god we got THAT request made early) and her future classroom has a pretty bitchin’ play kitchen set.

… and the obligatory plug, because it seems to bring the readers…