Waiting in Line for Brains
On Tuesday I packed up a cooler and the kids (separately, of course) and sat out for seven and a half hours waiting in line to register Reilly Kate for preschool. Now, seven hours ain't nothing when compared with our four day long vigil for the new house. That was insane. I was newly pregnant and there wasn't a bathroom. I had to pee in a disposable tupperware bowl, for crying out loud. This time they at least had bathroom facilities. But this was nonetheless tedious and hot hot hot. Have I ever mentioned how dang hot Ewa Beach is?
When I was a teen, my parents didn't allow me to attend concerts. So unlike my peers, I never had that teen rite of passage involving days in line for concert tickets. I am getting it all in now as a parent. I stand in line for real estate, preschool, and flu shots.
As we sat there, several people came up to discuss the school (which aside from requiring a crazy ass wait in line, requires the parents co-teach several days per trimester), including the teacher, Miss Maureen.
Any parent can tell you that a child will act up in precisely the situation that they absolutely should behave like an angel. It's like some sort of parental physics. Every action has an equal and opposite reaction. Take me for example. I just prayed that she wouldn't say or do anything outrageous while talking to her new teacher and her reaction was to poop her pants. Parental physics. As simple as New Math.
She also refused to talk to the teacher. Yes. Reilly Kate refused to talk. When asked her name she responded with, "I'm two." Then she shoved her finger up her nose and walked away. I just stood there staring blankly at Miss Maureen and contemplating her clear resemblance to Olive Oil. I was deep on this thought when we were interrupted by Reilly who came and stood between the two of us, fanny sticking out and stinking up. It was obvious that she had pooped. The number one rule of this preschool is that they must be potty trained. Lovely, huh?
The good news is that school doesn't start till the end of July. So we have plenty of time to straighten out the details of her potty training (like not pooping in your pants in front of the teacher). If we fail in that, I'll just sue on the grounds of discrimination. It's obvious that my child is anally challenged.
When I was a teen, my parents didn't allow me to attend concerts. So unlike my peers, I never had that teen rite of passage involving days in line for concert tickets. I am getting it all in now as a parent. I stand in line for real estate, preschool, and flu shots.
As we sat there, several people came up to discuss the school (which aside from requiring a crazy ass wait in line, requires the parents co-teach several days per trimester), including the teacher, Miss Maureen.
Any parent can tell you that a child will act up in precisely the situation that they absolutely should behave like an angel. It's like some sort of parental physics. Every action has an equal and opposite reaction. Take me for example. I just prayed that she wouldn't say or do anything outrageous while talking to her new teacher and her reaction was to poop her pants. Parental physics. As simple as New Math.
She also refused to talk to the teacher. Yes. Reilly Kate refused to talk. When asked her name she responded with, "I'm two." Then she shoved her finger up her nose and walked away. I just stood there staring blankly at Miss Maureen and contemplating her clear resemblance to Olive Oil. I was deep on this thought when we were interrupted by Reilly who came and stood between the two of us, fanny sticking out and stinking up. It was obvious that she had pooped. The number one rule of this preschool is that they must be potty trained. Lovely, huh?
The good news is that school doesn't start till the end of July. So we have plenty of time to straighten out the details of her potty training (like not pooping in your pants in front of the teacher). If we fail in that, I'll just sue on the grounds of discrimination. It's obvious that my child is anally challenged.
posted by The Histrionics of a Fat Housewife at 3:52 AM
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