Undomestic Diva

Lockdown

When my 5 year old son came home for HCLJPLP today and I asked him what happened at school, he shrugged nonchalantly and replied, "Ate snack. Had a drill. Did mail."

In an attempt to engage in conversation with him, while he was trying to see through me to get a glimpse of the TV, I pressed him for more details. "So, you had a fire drill, huh? That's good..."

Not even looking at me, still hard pressed to see what cartoon might be on, he replied distractedly, "No. It wasn't a fire drill."

I kinda gave up. He didn't want to talk to me and I had to get lunch going anyway. I let him watch his show while I got lunch together, but when it was time to eat and we were together at the table, I tried again.

"So... fire drill? Is that why you didn't have singing time today?"

"No mom, it wasn't a fire drill, I told you," he retorts like I had been the one who wasn't listening. Then he continued, mouth full - of course - saying, "They locked the door to the classrooms and covered the window in case a madman who shouldn't be there was trying to get in and get us. They said police would be all around the building and would tell us on the radio when it was safe to open our doors. Then my teacher would go check. THAT'S the drill we had. Not a fire drill!"

WTF.

I had to ask, "What's a madman?" thinking hoping perhaps he mistook "friendly clown" for "madman." Instead, he quickly explains, "You know, a  m-a-d-m-a-n. A really bad guy. Somebody who steals cable."

Oh no he didn't. Steals cable? WHAT?

My mouth just sorta fell open and stayed open as I had no idea what to say. The stealing cable thing? Funny. The fact that the pre-school just freaked out my 5 year old? Frustrating.

Then I got pissed. At no point did the PRE-SCHOOL, mind you, inform me that they would be practicing for such a drill. And um, while I'm certainly glad there is a plan in place, I can't believe the school was leaving it to 5 year olds to inform their parents of such an event. I mean, it's a lot to process for someone who can't tie his shoes. Perhaps even a bit scary for most of the kids. And all I can imagine are all these young, impressionable kids with vivid imaginations and slightly slurred speech running home to explain to mom and dad some skewed version of what happened at school today.

So you know what I did? I was THAT parent. Oh yeah, don't mess with me, I called the director, pronto.

ME: "Director Lady, hi, um, did you happen to send home a notice about the drill you guys had today? 'Cause I didn't get one."

DIRECTOR: "No. We're not doing the drill until tomorrow."

ME: "So there was no drill today?"

DIRECTOR: "No. But there will be one tomorrow."

ME: "That's weird, because (E-man) came home and told me about the drill you had, about locking the doors and covering the window and the madman and the police..."

DIRECTOR: "Oh, well... We had a mock drill today, I guess you could say. So that kids would understand what was happening tomorrow. In case there is ever an intruder. Not a madman."

[I'm confused. A "mock drill?" Isn't that a little redundant? And does a 5 year old understand what an "intruder" is? And how did he then come up with "madman?" Insert silent middle finger angled toward telephone here.]

ME: "Did you send anything home about it?"

DIRECTOR: "To be honest, I didn't think about it. I guess I could send something home tomorrow after we do the drill."

ME: "I'm sorry, but this concerns me. I mean, I am all for you guys having a plan in place, but when you leave it to a 5 year old to explain the drill to their parents, you're asking for a lot of unhappy moms and dads. This is quite a bit to process for someone so young and I think that the parents deserve to know about such an event BEFORE it happens."

DIRECTOR: "Yeah, you're probably right. I'll get something ready to send home tomorrow after we do the drill. By the way, don't be late tomorrow because anyone who shows up late will not be allowed in the school as all the doors will be locked."

BY THE WAY, laaaady, MY SON WILL NOT BE RETURNING NEXT YEAR. Put that in your bible and smoke it.

OK, here's the deal. I realize this is a "sign of the times" and unfortunately, having a "lockdown" plan is not just inevitable, but smart. I get that. What I don't get is how the parents are somehow not a part of this plan. God forbid my son is at school and there is some need for a lockdown, then I want to know HOW THE EFF DO I GET MY KID? What communication plan is in place?

More importantly, I want to know how the hell I'm supposed to explain this scenario to a very anxious little boy who is (easily) prone to nightmares.

And to be honest, I'm quite pissed (if you couldn't tell) by the director's nonchalant attitude with me. Does she have kids? No. So... Perhaps this is why she doesn't understand a parent's need-to-know. But this, THIS, A PARENT NEEDS TO KNOW.

So what do I do? Do I keep him home from school to avoid the trauma that, while being "pretend," is still very scary in his mind? Or do I send him, because what if? what if? I would want him to know what to do, right?

AAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Whoever let me have kids, did not disclose that shit like this is part of being a parent. And frankly, "I DON'T WANNA" is all that comes to mind when having to face decisions like these. I'm not qualified to handle this kind of crap. I tend to over-think it all (who me? no!) and not because I want to worry about it, but because I just want to do the right thing for my kid. And goddamnit, WHAT IS THE RIGHT THING TO DO FOR MY KID?

At the same time, I'm also feeling like... SHIT. This is what life has come to? Lockdown plans for gunmen on a pre-school campus? EFFING FANTASTIC. It almost makes me feel somewhat irresponsible for bringing kids into a world that's... just so goddamn cruel, ya know?

I mean, why can't we go back to a time when stealing cable was the worst thing a person could do?

The Chicken Song

Sometimes, I swear-to-god, I think my husband is purposely un-doing the little parenting I've done - ya know, just to eff with me. It's like he thinks to himself, "How do I get a rise out of her?" or maybe he ponders, "What would really piss her off?" No matter what he's thinking, I like to think he's just not thinking. It's less scary that way.

Tonight at dinner, E-man proudly told Candy Ass and I that he had taught his classmates at HCLJPLP his favorite song today. We were a little taken back because a) E-man hates to sing in front of people and b) we didn't know he had a favorite song.

CANDY ASS: "Cool. What song did you teach them?"

E-MAN: "The Chicken Song."

[An immediate full-swivel of my head 360 degrees around my neck and ending with a lethal stare at Candy Ass]

Now let me just start by saying that the "Chicken Song" is not some ho-down rendition of "Old McDonald" or some cutesy-fartsy song created to celebrate Easter. It's a song my husband proudly taught my boys, thinking he was oh-so-funny. One of those moments when a father bonds with his sons over poorly chosen words and stereotypes their mother would kill them for acquiring. Sung by Rodney Carrington, a man who (if you like Country music) is an amazing singer who can't put all his good talent to proper use. His songs are crude (to put it nicely) and hilarious (to put it mildly) if you're the type that can summon a sense of humor. (Obviously you're reading my blog so that last part shouldn't be an issue.)

Before either Candy Ass or I could compose ourselves, E-man proudly sang the only part of the song he knows, to which he greatly slaughtered its words but not enough to limit the potential damage to his fellow holier-than-thou classmates.

E-MAN: "I like my women like I like their fanny, with a little bit of fat on the end. Not too much and not too little - just enough to make them SQUEAL!!!"

OK, so the song goes a little differently, but really, I think it's safe to say that damage was done. Sufficiently.

CANDY ASS: "Well, did your friends like the song?"

E-MAN: "No. No one even smiled, Dad."

Hmm. Whatta ya know? None of the gospel-lovin' children or teachers at HCLJPLP even cracked a smile at E-man's favorite song. Self-righteous bastards. I mean, god made people and god made chickens and what's wrong with a little fat on the end? 

I sat through the rest of dinner, quietly eating while basking in the sudden shame of my husband who was now desperately trying to un-do his father-son bonding anthem. I couldn't help but enjoy the fact that, for once, it wasn't me who was having to fix what he had un-done.

Now I know you've probably already googled the lyrics to Rodney Carrington's "Chicken Song." Be patient, already. I've been kind enough to burn your eardrums with the now infamous father-son theme song.

[Warning: NSFW]

Disclaimer: This is not my "cup of tea" as far as music goes. (Candy Ass is a little bit country and I'm a lot a bit Rock and Roll.) As a perfect, super-mom [good god, I had to cringe when typing that] I would never teach my reverent sons such a song. It's that Candy Ass I married. He's to blame. He gets to do all the wrong things and I have to make them all right. I mean, yes, I've taught them some four-letter words and passed on my Starbucks gene to them, but damn it, other than that and a few hundred other little things, I've been the perfect effing parent.

All I want to know is why couldn't I have been a DAD?

Field Trips and Ticking Time Bombs

In my campaign to win Mother of the Year, I would like to highlight my duties as Room Mom (oh, if they only knew) at HCLJPLP and therefore field trip chaperon/transportation as one of my many "kids-first, me-second" sacrifices.

Today was a field trip day and because the teacher rode along with me, so did Unruly Kid. The kid who has to be with the teacher at all times, the kid that the teacher must adhere herself to, in order to limit the school's liability and insurance costs, the kid that, not-so-ironically, never has a parent participate in his activities. Honestly, I really tried to feel for Unruly Kid, who I figure must be lacking some much needed attention at home, and therefore erupts with a lot of attention-grabbing spastic outbursts at school so someone will notice him.

And it was impossible not to notice him as he kicked the back of my seat to and from our destination and tattle-tailed on each kid in the car and what they were and weren't doing. It was hard to ignore him opening, shutting, opening, shutting the air vents on the ceiling. But when he couldn't keep his seat belt on, I couldn't ignore him any longer.

Not a fan of bankrupting lawsuits and higher insurance rates, I nicely told Unruly Kid to fix his seat belt. And then I told him again. And again.

And the teacher told him.

And then, wouldn't you know it, he informed us as to why he didn't need to wear a seat belt.

UNRULY KID: "Well my mom doesn't make me wear a seat belt."

ME: "Well in my car, everyone HAS TO wear a seat belt."

UNRULY KID: "Well my mom says I don't need to wear a seat belt. Especially if we're not going too far."

ME: "Well I'm sorry. In my car, you have to follow my rules. And my rules are that EVERYONE HAS TO WEAR A SEAT BELT no matter how near or far we go."

It's funny what kids tell other adults. Unruly Kid's Mother would probably cringe to hear him say that she doesn't make him wear a seat belt. It's a reminder for me to watch what I say to my kids because they retain it when you least want them to. As a Mother of the Year candidate, it's true that my kids may use four-letter words in perfect context, but they always buckle up in the car.

Speaking of the self-righteous, today, while doing the field trip thing, I realized that nobody's kids are as fantastic as your own. In fact, other people's kids are down right annoying and ill-mannered and horribly groomed. I mean, surely I'm not biased, but my E-man is damn near perfect and everyone else's kid is sub-par. Not to be mean or critical or anything.

I even overheard some cackling moms snicker about a boy belonging to neither of them. Kind of like, "Oh-ma-gawd. Did you see that kid? Eh. Oh-ma-gawd." [You have to sound it out phonetically to get the point, or live in Southern CA.] I couldn't help but turn to them and say with a phony giggle-giggle-hee-hee that was not at all sincere, "I guess no kid is as great as yours, right??"

Hey, maybe I am starting to fit in at this private school setting. I've got phony down.

OK, I was being a little bitchy. And yes, I was being completely hypocritical. BUT I ALSO WASN'T VOICING MY OPINION OUT LOUD. Just typing it later on my blog. Which is sooooo different. So different.

One tad bit of interesting information did surface while driving with E-man's teacher today. Apparently, she used to work at one of the military bases, inspecting bombs. INSPECTING BOMBS. (In case you didn't hear me in lower caps.) "Oh." I said nervously. "So you went from inspecting bombs to working with little ticking time bombs, huh?"

She laughed, I laughed and then we *dropped* the subject.

[tomato throwing here]

But if anything, I did walk away from today's experience (crying) having gained a little more appreciation for E-man's teacher. Not only does she return to work each day (why??) but with a smile on her face and ZERO alcohol on her breath. That's amazing. Heroic even.

So if the judges for the Mother of the Year contest are reading this, please take note that I did not lose a kid, pummel a kid to smithereens or make a kid motherless in the five hours I was held hostage accompanied E-man's class on their field trip. And if that doesn't earn me the Mother of the Year title and a Purple Heart, then SCREW YOU, I QUIT.

Reindeer Games

At Holy Christian Loves Jesus Praise the Lord Preschool, Christmas is done with a vengeance. Um, excuse me, I mean, Jesus' Birthday is celebrated like CRAZY. It's BIG TIME don't-mess-with-Jesus' Birthday let's party like we're away in a manger BAD ASS.

Being a private school and all, the gift giving amongst 4 and 5 year olds is a bit out of hand. Every one of E-man's little classmates has left him a little something in the way of a Christmas gift in his cubby. And I've been feeling the pressure to reciprocate...

Initially, my thought was to buy each of the 21 kids a 42" Sony Bravia Plasma TV. But then I got ahold of my senses and was like, "There's no way I could fit all those in my car!" So I had to re-think my gifts. A bottle of Jack Daniels? Probably not a good idea since I don't think they make sippy lids for those bottles. Naming a star after each one of them? Probably a waste of time since I'm certain these parents have already given their children THE WORLD.

So I had to do what I had to do. I busted out CRAFTY DIVA, dusted her ass off and got to crack-a-lackin' on some seriously CHEAP - but crafty - gifts for E-man's friends.

[TANGENT: I know it defies all science and logic, but as undomestic as I may be, I am surprisingly crafty. I can be pretty freakin' creative when I need to be, although I'm not exactly graceful as I go along. For instance, HOT GLUE, the most ingenious invention EVER, does not, by the way, feel fantastic under your finger nail.]

I decided on Candy Cane Reindeers. So simple, so cheap and they kinda make me look like I've got it together when really, IT'S JUST A FACADE.

But here's the thing. (There's always a catch, isn't there?!) I kinda got bored oh, say, two into the 21 I had to assemble. So as I sat hot gluing red noses and googly eyes and twisting pipe cleaners into antlers, I began imagining the conversations between these oddly scary little creatures that were staring back at me. And not only did I imagine the conversations, I kinda created a whole scene... in a bar... and couldn't resist making one of the reindeer into a cyclops. Just to see how it looked.

AND NO, I'M NOT CRAZY.

OK... a little crazy. But you're curious aren't you?? And what does that make YOU? Crazy??

Here's how it went:

THE END.*

Damn, I should have been a playwright.

*This, by the way, is the scene on any given night at a bar in Los Angeles. And you should take my word for it, being that I, a mother of three young boys, am out there on the club scenes almost nightly. You know... shakin' my ass, gettin' Stella's groove back (??), rockin' the Roxbury and just bein' MEGALICIOUS.

Private School Procedures

2007-2008 Holy Christian Loves Jesus Praise the Lord Preschool Parent Handbook, "Facades and Outward Appearances" page 28:

At HCLJPLP we respectfully request that mothers do not arrive on campus with mascara running down their face or appear to be having a bad day. Tears or swollen eyes are, under no circumstance, ever allowed. It is the expectation of HCLJPLP that mothers continually appear and behave in a Christ-like manner. HCLJPLP prides itself in keeping up facades and outward appearances and we do not tolerate deviation from perfection or, at least, the appearance of perfection.

Thank you,

Principal HolierThanThouHardCoreJesusFreak 

Sweet Baby Jesus

Just the latest in the Holy Christian Loves Jesus Praise the Lord Preschool saga...

Today E made a baby Jesus... Cute, yes, but now, as you can see, he's sleeping with Sweet Baby Jesus. And Sweet Baby Jesus has to eat too, you know. And, "Can I bring Sweet Baby Jesus to Grandma's house?" And "Do you have a blanket Sweet Baby Jesus can borrow?" And "SSSHHHHHHHHH!!! Sweet Baby Jesus is trying to get his rest!" [Yawn]

Um, E? You do know that Sweet Baby Jesus (8 pound, 6 ounce Sweet Baby Jesus) is a sock in a strawberry basket, right?? Just making sure...

No room for Santa in the Inn

I've told you I'm having a few issues trying to adjust to E's very Christian, very religious preschool. I'm trying to be open-minded. Really, I am. I overlooked the "No Halloween" policy, thinking it was a bit ridiculous, but whatever, we still get to celebrate the blood and gore at home. I saw past the needing to pray before our parent-teacher conference because, frankly, what the hell am I supposed to say? "Sorry, I wish you wouldn't try to wish good things for my child?" I even ignored the pledging allegiance to the Christian flag, since they were still pledging their allegiance to the American flag too. Jesus, I feel like I've been pretty nice about all this hallelujah crap so far.

But this momma's about HAD IT now.

It started with E's music, um, issue. His teacher told us he didn't like practicing for the preschool Christmas program and he had told her he "hated" music. That's weird, 'cause at home, he's always begging us to turn the music up REAL LOUD. The next day, his teacher told me E had said her music was "lame" and asked if she had any Rock and Roll. I pep-talked him on the way home, explaining that Holy Christian Loves Jesus Praise the Lord Preschool probably believes that Rock and Roll is the devil's music and so, no, his teacher would not be able to handle his request. Oh, and, in the theory of being a good mother I also preached, "Don't use the word lame. It's not nice."

I took it upon myself to focus on playing Christmas music each night after dinner to encourage E's love for Christmas songs. I played "Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer" and E said it wasn't one he knew. OK, what about "Frosty the Snowman?" Nope. What about "Santa Claus is Coming to Town?" Nuh-uh. "We don't sing this one either mom," E told me. What the hell? I was just about to use the "lame" word myself when Pavarotti's "O Holy Night" came on and E promptly started singing along. I stared at him in total disbelief because a) I didn't know the words myself, and b) it was in Italian and E was still singing along in English. Then it dawned on me. Everything E would be singing at Holy Christian Loves Jesus Praise the Lord Preschool would be strictly religious. I just didn't know how religious, until...

Next thing you know, a note was sent home in E's homework folder saying that while Holy Christian Loves Jesus Praise the Lord Preschool understands that "there are many ways to celebrate Jesus' birthday, all references of Santa must be left for at-home celebrations." Then they actually cited the 2007-2008 Parent Handbook, complete with page and paragraph number. You know, in case we didn't believe they were this OVER THE TOP.

Come on! No Santa??? Santa is the God of the commercial world. If Jesus loves everyone, doesn't that include Santa? And aren't Christians not supposed to judge others? Including Santa? Or is this like when USC and UCLA play? At which point you're not allowed to love both because they're rivals? Now that's lame.

As icing on the cake, the note also informed us that following the preschool Christmas program next week, we were all invited back to our respective classrooms for cake and ice cream to celebrate Jesus' birthday and sing "Happy Birthday to Him."

My husband (who, with this single little smart-ass remark made me fall in love with him all over again) promptly asked, "Does this mean we're having a funeral at Easter?"

Religious as hell

My 4 year old, E-Man, attends a private school for Pre-K. A very religious one. Not because we have money (which we don't) or because we feel bible study is important (which we don't) but because at his last preschool, the only thing he brought home was a broken leg. There was no curriculum to speak of and I had tinsy-weensy problem with the fact that they allowed him to wander out the gate a few times and left him on the playground on occasion.

On recommendation from a friend, we enrolled E-Man into a private school that was supposed to be the best and - according to the secretary - not too over-the-top religious. Psshh. The kid - my kid - is now pledging allegiance to a Christian flag and praying before he eats, goes outside, goes to the bathroom, takes in oxygen and a few other times per day. But damn, he's also learning to read.

It's an adjustment for us at home though. This supposedly not too over-the-top school gave him a "Beginner's Bible" at orientation which he asks to read regularly at home. So I let him - on occasion - until he starts speaking Lord of the Rings to me about a guy named Jonah and some whale... There's only so much I can take.

E-Man's even learned to use all his godliness against me at times, like when I swear and he tells me god doesn't want me to do that. Unfortunately, when I try to use it against him "E - god wants you to pick up your dirty socks" or "E - god's watching you, don't hit your brother" or "god wants you to go to bed early..." it never seems to work. Damn, I thought I'd get a little more for my private school tuition money.

Don't get me wrong, I'm glad he likes it. I just have a reasonable fear that I may be struck by lightning when I enter the school each day. I mean, I ditched Mormonism, got pregnant before I was married and I love the F word like it were my 4th child. I am in a polygamist relationship with my husband and the Starbucks franchise (they take turns) and I worship other idols (like American Idols).

The only good news is that my son is doing really well at the school. And I'm learning to be more open-minded. I even pray regularly now, if you count how often I say "Jesus Christ! What's that smell?" or "For god's sake, pick up your goddamn toys" or "Oh... oh... oh god!!! Oh god. Oh god... God!"

My only worry is that, just to spite me, E will grow up to be a priest (or something similar) instead of the doctor I know he's destined to be. And if that's the case, well then, God help me. Wait... Damn!