Stumble it!
February 10, 2005
PTAtrocity
Last night was the PTA Open house, when the school opens its doors and welcomes you into your children’s world. It is ostensibly the time you tour your child’s classroom to see what your child is learning (and what your tax dollars are paying for) but we all know the true purpose. It is an “open house” in the sense that you are opening up your entire family to inspection by all other attendees and you better be well prepared.
This was going to be my big night at PTA Open House, my debut. I missed last year because of my spine surgery, and the year before Finn was my only child in elementary school, so this was the first time my entire family would be there. I dresssed carefully, and wore a black sweater and and short skirt (understated sophistication), my suede boots and fishnets (to show off my shapely legs) and my glasses (so I would look like an intelligent mother). I topped it all off with my fabulous winter coat.
My coat is a beautiful caramel color and it almost reaches the floor. The cuffs and collar are trimmed in caramel curly lamb. Britney Spears was wearing one like it last year in US Weekly. I bet she paid full price for hers, but I waited until the Bloomingdale’s By Mail sale and got mine for a fraction of the retail price. It is one of my best bargain bonanzas ever.
I pictured myself walking serenely from one classroom to the next, oohing and aahing lovingly over my sons’ accomplishments, accompanied by my sexy husband and three well behaved, handsome boys. That’s how the script went, anyway, and I made sure everyone knew it. As we pulled into the school parking lot, I said, “OK guys. Good manners. And stick together. We’re all going to everyone’s classrooms as a family.” I got three “yes m’ams” in return.
We went to Finn’s class first. He’s in the third grade. We read his portfolio of work and admired his self portrait and autobiography. We let the duo go play in the area outside his classroom while we finished perusing his classroom walls, every inch of which were covered with charts, graphs, posters and other educational stuff.
At home I tell Finn, “I don’t care how every one else is doing. As long as you are working your hardest, I will be satisfied.” When I said it, I thought I meant it. Apparently, deep down in some tiny competitive spot in my soul, I really didn’t.
In one corner there was a chart showing how many book tests each child had taken. Isabelle Smyer was far ahead of Finn and the rest of the class. I only had a moment to look without being too obvious, but I quickly estimated that Finn was about twenty books behind her. When I was growing up, I always read the most and the hardest books of anyone in my class. I don’t know who this Isabelle chick thinks she is, but if she thinks she’s got Finn beat in the reading department, she’s wrong. I made a mental note to check on Finn’s reading and get a few more stars by his name on the chart.
As I swished around the room in my shaggy coat, I came to another disturbing poster. On the “Mad Minute” chart, a row of stars marked the multiplication tests each child had passed. You get one minute to correctly answer all the multiplication questions in one family (from 1×1 up to 1×12 for the ones, for example). Again, one row was much longer than the others. It was that damn Isabelle, of course. She was already up to the 12’s.
Finn has tried to pass his 7’s several times but keeps forgetting the same problem that I never could remember: 7×6. I thought once he passed the six family and knew that 6×7 was 42 he’d be able to remember that 7×6 was also 42, but then again, the relationship between the two problems had completely escaped me at that age. I mentally kicked myself for not spending more time with Finn on his multiplication. I’ve been relying on Bill to handle most of that, because I hate arithmetic.
I sighed. Finn might be stinking at math, but at least I was wearing a hot outfit. I took off my coat so the other parents could see my legs. I had to pick a few strands of curly lamb off my sweater, but I still looked sleek and stylish.
We left Finn’s class and went to get the twins so we could go to Porter’s class. As the five of us walked down the hall, I felt a tap on my back, and heard a snuffly voice saying, “Mrs. Glamore? Mrs. Glamore?”
I turned around to see a teary Gunter Gross. He’s one of Drew’s friends and his lips are always very chapped. “Yes, Gunter?” I said.
“Mrs. Glamore? Porter socked me in the face,” Gunter said. He wasn’t bleeding, but he didn’t look so good. I think that was mainly because the chapped area around his lips extended up to his nose and down to his chin. I cringed. This didn’t exactly reflect well on the Glamores.
I pulled Porter over and made him apologize and ask forgiveness. I looked for Gunter’s mother, Lisa, but did not see her, so we headed on to the kindergarten wing. My evening at the elementary school was not proceeding as well as I had hoped.
Somewhere between third grade and kindergarten we lost Finn and Drew. We saw them running ahead of us in the hall and I called sweetly, “Boys, stop running! We’ll meet you in Drew’s class!” Bill, Porter and I continued on our way.
But when we got to Drew’s class, Finn and Drew were not there. We checked up and down the hall for them, but did not see them. So we walked with Porter to his classroom next door.
Porter was thrilled to have both of his parents to himself. He ran around the room, showing us his journal, which featured a lot of pictures of trees and pirates, the reading center, his nap mat and his cubby for his backpack. He was happy and smiling and looking precious.
I smiled at him, then noticed that there was a big pink stain on the front of his shirt. I looked closer, and realized it was toothpaste, and that Porter was wearing the same shirt he had worn to sleep in last night. I had been so busy dressing myself, I hadn’t paid much attention to the boys’ clothes. Oh well. I rationalized that it would have been much worse if he had been a girl.
While we were in Porter’s class, I saw a friend from church whose daughter is in the same class.
“Where are your other boys?” she asked. “I wanted to see them.”
“They went to the library,” I lied. I wanted her to see them, too. They are easily the most handsome brothers in the whole school, and the fact that two of the three were MIA was making it very hard for me to impress everyone with their good looks and impeccable manners.
We went to Drew’s classroom. Drew wasn’t there. Three moms whose kids have double names were, however. I looked for Gunter’s mom so I could apologize for Porter’s hitting, but I did not see her. I went up to Drew’s teacher, Amanda, who was also Finn’s teacher when he was in kindergarten.
“Hey. Have you seen Drew?” I asked.
“Yes, he and Finn ran through here like maniacs a while ago. I knew you wouldn’t mind me disciplining them, so I stopped them and told them to slow down and go find you. They haven’t found you?”
“No,” I said, picturing them wreaking havoc in the classroom. I hoped she had not called them by their names when she disciplined them, so maybe no one would realize they were mine.
“Well, have you seen Gunter’s mom?” I asked. I left out the part about why I needed her, as Porter, at least, was standing beside me looking perfectly angelic, though dirty.
“She’s already been here and left,” Amanda said. “Her name is Leslie, by the way. She said that sometimes you call her Lisa.”
“Oh, damn,” I said. A lady peering at her child’s journal nearby looked up. I gave her a fake smile and turned back to Amanda. “I can’t believe that. I’ve actually been calling her Lisa all year. I’ve never once called her Leslie.”
“That’s no big deal,” Amanda said. “It’s hard to keep track of everyone.”
It is, but Lisa/Leslie and I are on the boxtop committee together and we have carpooled to at least three birthday parties. It had taken me a long time to get in a kindergarten birthday party carpool, and that was a relationship I needed to nurture. I didn’t have any excuse for not knowing her name. My glasses might have made me look intelligent, but I was starting to feel like a fool.
Bill, Porter and I pretended to tour Drew’s room (sans Drew) for about 45 seconds, then we hustled out into the hall to find our missing offspring. I was boiling mad and was already thinking about how I was going to make Finn stay up all night learning his multiplication tables through the 12’s so he could take the next five Mad Minute tests and show Isabelle who the true math genius is.
The big open house celebration was taking place in the gym, and that’s where we found Finn and Drew. The perimeter of the gym was lined with tables full of families eating, and my missing offspring were racing around with a pack of other boys in the center, playing football. As I watched, Drew ran right in front of a mom who was holding a small child with one hand and carrying a plate of fried chicken and mashed potatoes in the other. He almost knocked her over. Apparently she knew him, because she yelled, “Drew Glamore, slow down! Where is your mother?” Several diners looked up.
I slowly edged behind the corner of the bleachers so that neither she nor the other families could see me, and I whispered to Bill, “Go get them! They are acting like savages!”
He strode out onto the gym floor and grabbed Finn and Drew and shepherded them back to me.
“You are in BIG trouble,” I hissed as I put on my shaggy coat. “This is NOT the way Glamores act! We are going home right now!”
“But Mom, there’s a birthday cake for the school and you said we could have a piece,” Porter said.
“No way,” I said, and I turned to go and ran straight into Gunter Gross’s mother. I thought as hard as I could. Was she Lisa, or Leslie? I took a chance.
“Lisa,” I said, adjusting my voice from a hiss into a pleasant husky tone. “I’ve been looking all over for you. Apparently there was a little problem between Porter and Gunter.”
“My name is Leslie. Leslie Gross. Please do not call me Lisa,” Leslie said harshly, and loudly enough that several people turned around to look.
“I wouldn’t call it a little problem,” Leslie continued. “Porter hit my son and he has been crying ever since.”
“I know,” I whispered, trying unsuccessfully to move away. I looked down and saw that my curly lamb cuff was caught on a screw on the bleachers. I tugged at it and it came loose, leaving a tuft of lamb behind.
“I don’t think we can continue to carpool with you if Porter cannot control himself,” Leslie went on. “Gunter is very sensitive and I do not think Porter is a good role model for him.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I need that birthday party carpool. I need it badly. We had a party the next afternoon and I couldn’t drive - I was supposed to be watching Drew take his karate test at the same time.
“Surely you know we do not condone hitting in our family,” I said. “It was just a mistake. Porter has apologized and it won’t happen again.”
Leslie shook her head. “I know how these families full of boys are. They’re rough, that’s what they are. I just don’t think Porter is a very good influence. I’m sorry. You’ll have to carpool to Pump-It-Up with someone else.”
(Pump-It-Up is a warehouse sized building dedicated to loud birthday parties. You rent it out and the guests take off their shoes and run and jump on squishy pads and slides until they are sweaty and cranky. Then you fill them full of sugar, try unsuccessfully to match each kid with his or her shoes, and send them out to their stressed-out parents, who have braved harrowing traffic to pick up their sobbing youngsters. Fun!)
Leslie grabbed Gunter by the hand and walked out of the gym, leaving the five of us staring after her. Frankly, I never knew she had such balls.
The five of us walked in silence to the car. I was dazed. As we drove home, Bill gave the boys a speech about how they had disobeyed our instructions to stay together. They had acted like heathens and sullied the Glamore name. They would have to be punished.
Actually, I wasn’t even focusing on their awful behavior. I was still too stunned at the fact that I had lost an integral part of my carpooling organization, one that I had carefully cultivated.
My debut was a debacle. Damn that Lisa!
Posted by Anne Glamore @ 6:48 pm • Fashion: Turn To The Left!, School Today: Eraserboard Jungle, Tiny Kingdom Exclusive Stumble it!
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February 11th, 2005 at 7:10 pm, Marion Crawford Says:
I posted a comment about the PTAtrocity on the Tatoo You story. Both are great. Keep working on this one…I want to know more about Mrs. Glamore and her family. She is a riot! I want to hear more about what she likes to wear and why. I love the competitive streak. All of it was great. Keep writing.
March 17th, 2005 at 6:28 pm, Susie Sunshine Says:
Whatever you do, DO NOT become a PTA board member with the CRAZY notion of improving and creating new events for the children.
You’ll just be trapped in endless meetings where the mere suggestion of purchasing less expensive laminating film results in a series of three televised debates and a wrestling match.
Co-Presidentally Yours,
Susie Sunshine
PS. I want your coat.
January 12th, 2007 at 10:59 pm, My Tiny Kingdom » The Baseball Diaries: Snack Patrol Says:
[...] You read it right! It was Leslie - from PTAtrocity! [...]