Drama In The Classroom. And In The SWAMP!!!

In my 5th Grade Daughter's Take-Home Folder -

Dear Parents,

As part of the District's Elementary Health Curriculum, we will be presenting a unit on Human Growth and Development. This unit will be addressed through a video and classroom discussion. Classes will take place on Tuesday, March 25th.

Topics which will be discussed include:
4th Grade Boys
*Personal Care

5th Grade Boys
*Personal Care
*Male Stages of development
*Male Reproductive Anatomy

4th & 5th Grade Girls
*Personal Care
*Female Stages of Development
*Female Reproductive Anatomy

Boys and girls are separated for the instruction. Fourth grade students will receive one, thirty-minute session. Fifth grade students will be provided with one, forty-five minute session.

A parent video preview session and informational meeting will be held on Tuesday, March 11. This meeting is to provide parents with the opportunity to become familiar with the material to be presented and to ask questions.

Before a child will be allowed to attend the session on Human Growth and Development, a parent must grant permission. Those not attending these classes will complete an alternate health assignment.


Can you even imagine my irreverent ass watching that video with the other parents? I'd get a fit of the Highly Inappropriate Silent Giggles and be asked to leave. I'm cracking up even as I'm typing this now.

I'm really not too worried about Beeb in Sex Ed. I think Beeb's got a pretty good grasp on the concept. What with all the naps we've been taking... ;)

I kinda wonder what the alternate assignment is.


In other news, Beebie has been teaching Pie to ride a bike! I'm proud of her for being a patient, encouraging teacher and of him for being persistent.

And last week the mom of a little girl in Pie's class - sweet little girl, cuter'n a bug's ear - called to ask if I was willing to help out with the class party Friday afternoon. I didn't want to say, "Well, I'll come, but only if you promise me The Swamp Thing isn't going to be there."

Ok, I DID want to say it, and I'm pretty sure it wouldn't be that big a deal because the last time I was over at The Swamp, I didn't write about it, but she told me this HUGE, long story about how she offered to help with the winter party last semester and how pissed she was afterwards. I think that's a story worth telling, actually, but, as you may recall, at the time I was too pissed to even get into it. Hang on, I'll get to it in a second.

I wanted to say that, because I really didn't want to help out at the party. But I don't want to spend one fucking minute in the presence of that woman probably wouldn't have been a valid excuse, so I pulled the other one I usually use.

"Oh, I would, but I've got a younger son and I'd have to bring him with me, and y'know..."

It usually works. It's gotten me out of more obligations than I can count. This time, though, it didn't. But it was fine because the Room Mom very sweetly and enthusiastically said, "Oh, sure, it's absolutely fine if you bring him! Younger siblings are no problem!" That was cool. And Tito had a great time.

Ok, so the story -

I don't remember all of it, because honestly, I tune into her voice just enough to know when I need to say "uh-huh... yeah..." or "you're kidding" or whatever. But she told me that she had contributed monetarily to the Winter Party, as all parents are asked to do. We were asked to donate $3 per child. Well, apparently she sent a $5 bill and, guess what?

The bitch didn't get her change.

She emailed the teacher asking if the extra she paid could be applied to the next party, so next time she'd only have to pay a dollar. Didn't hear back. Followed up and eventually the teacher told her that the contributions went into a "fund" of sorts, and the room mothers applied whatever was in the fund to the party, usually winding up paying at least a little bit out of pocket. That's the risk you take when you sign up to be a Room Mom.

How'd I learn that? Not by being a Room Mom, but by being the dummy in the Daisy Troop Puppet Regime. Yeah, I didn't have access to the troop's bank account. Clever, right? I don't even know how much I paid out of pocket for that shit.

Anyway, Swamp Thing expressed disbelief that a party for 22 kids could cost THAT much money. Lemme tell ya, friends - Three bucks a head for a party that includes snacks, activities and goodie bags is a STEAL. I had six kids at Pie's party (two of them mine), and granted, I went for an exotic theme and I could have gone cheaper, but I paid $50 for just the invitations, cups, treat bags, tablecloth and snotty pinata. I made my own kitty litter cake and dirt cups. Hope you caught the pics a few posts ago.

Then she hypothesized out loud about the injustice being a result of some crooked dealings amongst the ranks of the Room Moms. I've met the Room Moms. They all seem pretty cool on the surface. A couple of them didn't think my sarcastic remarks were all that funny, but fuck 'em if they can't take a joke, right? My favorite moms are John's mom and the Cuter'n a Bug's Ear Girl's mom. They're the coolest. Next to me, of course.

Swampy went on to talk about how before she sent in her fin, she was asked if she wanted to "help out" with the games. She's an artist, as I've mentioned. And a good one. She offered to make a snowman for some sort of game like a ring toss or something. I never saw the finished snowman, but according to her, she put a lot of work into it. And I'm not saying she didn't. I have no idea. Oh, PLUS, she paid for the posterboard herself.

She wanted it back after the party. She didn't tell anyone she did, but she assumed it would be returned to her.

It was made of posterboard.

So she swore she wouldn't be a part of any more parties. And I vaguely remember her saying that, after I remembered that story, but I didn't remember it until after I spent Friday morning with my stomach in fucking knots thinking, Please God, please drop something heavy on her from the sky. Please give her kids some bizarre unexplainable rash that warrants a trip to the ER. Anything, God. Really, anything. Just please don't let her be there. I can't fucking take it. Seriously, I can't.

And I totally almost - Yeah, totally almost, like that? I write like I talk. - had fucking instant diarrhea when I saw a red Sienna amongst the other Suburban Assault Vehicles in the parking lot. But then I saw about fifty other red Siennas and thought Maybe, just maybe, I'm okay. I spent the first twenty minutes of the party in a cold fucking sweat looking over my shoulder, but, true to her word, she wasn't there. Dodged a fuckin bullet, I did.

And I know what you're thinking. I know.

She's petty, she's paranoid, she's obsessive, she holds ridiculous grudges, she's neurotic, self-centered, loud, obnoxious and exhausting.

SHE SOUNDS EXACTLY LIKE YOU, SARAH.

How are we not friends?

Oh, yeah.

BECAUSE I CAN'T FUCKING STAND HER.