As Seen at Meet the Teacher Night

I generally go into Meet the Teacher Night with mixed feelings. I dread the crowded hallways and circles of armpit sweat that pop out the minute I walk into the classroom with the fifty thousand other parents, all armed with multiple bags of school supplies and kids that they apparently gave a hit off the crack pipe before bringing them to meet their warden for the next nine months. Don't even get me started on the parking situation, which usually requires that I park 46 miles away from the front door of the school and schlep the 10 bags of school supplies, which year-after-year I continue to put in plastic bags that generally blow a handle before I can even make to the classroom, across the sandy playground which then makes me the mom that the teacher remembers only as the one with the broken bags, a foul mouth and dirt between her toes. Hate all that stuff. But, I totally love the people watching portion of the show.

I am relatively certain that the elementary school Grace went to had the highest per capita parental income of any other school in our district (now that would be her middle school). Obviously, we are the poor white trash of the fancy rich school. No one has caught on yet, so lets keep that under hats, k? The large income base makes people watching all that much more fun because those moms up there have a lot of expendable income and they do like to flaunt it. So, in addition to really big cars, big hair and big nails, sometimes things that were maybe small last year are now much bigger. Or things that were much bigger are now much smaller, like say a nose or an ass. Not that I have much room to talk because my ta-ta's are so fake. I'm totally not ashamed of that and what makes me even more proud is that I paid the suckers off all by myownself. Who's your mama?

Oh my God, it's so fun to watch them show off their new attributes, but without actually saying they have new attributes and then their "friends" don't want to say anything because they totally plan to be all catty about it later and I'm totally the one that walks by and says real loud to Grace, "Look Gracie, McKenna's mommy got a new nose!!", mortifying everyone within ear shot. Okay, maybe they have caught on that we're the poor white trash. Whatever.

Max's school is a totally different experience, aside from the walking 46 miles to the front door, the armpit sweat, and the kids on crack. He goes to hippie school, so while most moms are rolling up in their Range Rovers or BMWs (again, no room to talk since that's what my ex is rolling up in), there is more of a, shall we say, natural, organic feel to the room. There's not even really any new faces there because, for the most part, once we get our kids in that school, we ain't taking them out. Part of that is because it's private, so there is no schlepping school supplies. That's what my mortgage sized tuition payment covers. It's even hard for me to be snarky (especially now that I'm not only on the PTO but head up the Community Outreach Committee because apparently we all have a death wish), but sometimes I can manage it. Like right this very second.

Meet the Teacher Night at his school is an event. Like, an actual event with entertainment for the children and a family picnic. Hey, with the high price of tuition, I damn well better at least get a bounce house and juggler out of the deal. I'm just sayin'. Everyone gathers outside and mingles. I hide in the corner in order to decrease the odds of saying something inappropriate, like, "Shit, you're pregnant again? Didn't you just squeeze out a damn kid?" to a fellow parent or teacher. I'm not sure why being inappropriate at Grace's school is okay, but it mortifies me at Max's school. I'm going to have to think on that. Anyway, a good time is had by all, blah, blah, blah.

Tonight I was standing out there, waiting in line with Max for his turn on the school supplied entertainment paid for with the money that I should be putting in his college fund, so I hope he can get a scholarship or twenty, and this new mom walks by. I'm all like, "Oh look, new people...What the f*ck s on that bitch's arm?" I kid you not when I say she had a tattoo of this:

Remember that from the Teletubbies? I think maybe it was supposed to be her baby's face in the sun, but I'm thinking it matters not because anyone who had the pleasure of watching hour-after-hour of the Teletubbies and had a kid with a thick southern accent except when she said "tap shoes" and suddenly became British because of one of their stinkin' videos that was played until it actually broke will totally think she has a weird thing for Po, Tinky Winky, Dipsy and La La.

I was standing there all alone while Max was off enjoying the entertainment and I looked at her crazy huge Teletubbie tribute again and I thought, "I bet Jerry Falwell would totally hate her ass if he was still alive." Then I busted out laughing, and I noticed a couple of parents staring at me. I guess I can mark their kids off of the birthday invite list.

o

As Seen at Meet the Teacher Night