The very talented Lindsey over at Suburban Turmoil, has written about 3 posts over the past couple weeks that have made me think “Oh, I really want to write about that, too.” But you know, write about all three and I might get a little blog award titled “Unoriginal Stalker ” to add to my Kreativ Blogger badge from Ingrid.
Plus, the deep ones make my brain hurt a little, and listen Internet, I like you a lot but we’ve only been dating 3 months and I’m not ready to make that kind of commitment.
So, Lindsey asked for folks’ go-to story at cocktail parties. I do not actually get invited to a lot of any cocktail parties, but this is the story I pull out at PTA mixers. People laugh uproariously, and then back away slowly and don’t let their kids play with mine anymore.
As our daughter got ready to enter kindergarten, she discovered a new favorite word. This was nothing new. She she fell in love with flags at age 2, but could not say the “fl” blend. So she did a lot of rapturous announcing of “LOOK, A BIG FAG! A BIG BLOWING FAG!”
But at 5, she was enthralled with calling things that did not meet with her approval “freaks.” This, I freely admit, is my fault and mine alone. I know you’re shocked.
So one August day before school started, we sat down and explained that she could certainly call the dogs freaks when they jumped on her, call characters that on TV, but that “freaks” was not a word we were going to use for our new classmates or our teacher. It was a word we did not use at school. Only home. Or church. You know, as in “Jesus freaks.” Ahem.
Things went well with the freak moratorium.
And then, the 100th day of kindergarten came. It’s a big deal, you know. At our school, the day involved glittery crowns with “100” on them. Disney princess-exciting x 10.
But as my daughter was waiting in the cafeteria to be picked up, a rambunctious boy grabbed her crown, and tore it.
And I arrived, along with EVERY OTHER PARENT AT THE SCHOOL, just in time to see her standing on the cafeteria table bench, pointing down at the crown-tearer and screaming in unrestrained fury:
“I WANT TO CALL YOU A REALLY BAD NAME RIGHT NOW…
“BUT MY MOTHER SAYS I CAN ONLY USE THE F-WORD AT HOME!!!”
The cafeteria hushed. I could hear every adult in there imagining dinner at our house “Pass the f-ing green beans.” “I want some more f-ing ice tea.” “Stop feeding the f-ing dogs at the table.”
I tried to salvage things by calling out cheerfully, “that’s right honey, we do not call people freaks at school.”
But you know, people were already scurrying away to talk about us in the parking lot.
Got your own great moment in parenting? Share a link in the comments. I could read this stuff all freakin’ day. -lettergirl