People I Want to Punch in the Throat (22 page)

“Well, it sounds like she’s trying now. She and her kids eat really clean,” I said. “Avalynn’s never even had a pudding cup.”

“Ha! Just because you buy organic stuff at Costco doesn’t mean that you’re eating clean. I have a vegetable and herb garden in my backyard. It’s invaluable. Both for the health benefits and to teach my Gaia and Cedar, my son, how to nurture and love the land. Do you garden at all, Jen?”

“No. I don’t think our homeowners’ association allows gardens,” I said, knowing full well that even if it was allowed, I’d never have a garden. I may not take much pride in my landscaping, but it still looks a shit ton better than some ugly vegetable garden.

“Excuse me,” a woman interrupted me and Starr. “Do you only have corn dogs?”

Seriously? Was I going to have another discussion about how bad this shit was for her kid? “Yes,” I replied. “I know it’s not the healthiest choice, but it’s a carnival.”

“Oh, I don’t care about that,” she said. “I was asking because Rocket doesn’t like corn dogs. He likes pizza.”

I looked at the kid standing next to her. “Oh. Yeah. Sorry. No pizza. Just corn dogs and popcorn.”

“I want pizza,” Rocket whined at his mother.

“I know, sweetie, but the lady didn’t get any pizza,” she said.

“But corn dogs are gross. I want pizza!”

“Rocket, I hear you,” his mother said, “and I understand your frustration. Unfortunately the people in charge decided to go with corn dogs instead of pizza.”

“Pizza!”

“Honey, please don’t get upset. Mama hates it when you get upset,” she soothed Rocket. I wanted to smack the kid, but I could tell she was the type to press charges. “Ooh … I know! Why don’t we find Daddy and see if he’ll run out and get us a pizza?” She turned to me. “Can we do that? Can we bring in outside food?”

“Um, yes, I guess so. Ellen brought sandwiches from home, but I think she did that because her daughter has severe food allergies. We’re selling corn dogs and popcorn to make money for the school. ’Cause, y’know, it’s a fund-raiser.”

“Right. I hear you, and I can understand how hard it is to raise money, but the thing you need to understand is that Rocket hates corn dogs and he wants pizza. Your job is to raise money, but my job is to make sure that Rocket is happy.”

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Starr nodding along in agreement with this woman. I looked around, hoping that someone would transfer me to the dunk tank before I started throwing corn dogs at people. “
That’s
your job?
His
happiness? Do you have other kids, too, or just Rocket?”

“I have two kids, actually,” she replied. “We also have Serena.”

“So what happens when it’s impossible to make both Serena
and
Rocket happy?” I asked. I really was curious to know how she handled it. When your entire job is making sure your kids are happy, it can be a real shitty day at the office when your tiny
“bosses” can’t get on the same page. I can’t imagine trying to make both Gomer and Adolpha happy at the same time about anything. If I said, “We’re going out for dinner and you two can pick where we go!” one would say McDonald’s and the other would say Subway. I thought maybe this woman knew something the rest of us didn’t. Maybe she knew how to get
both
of her kids to answer that question with “Mexican!”

“What do you mean? I don’t understand,” she said, genuinely confused.

“Well, for instance, Rocket wants pizza right now, but what about Serena? What if she wants a burger? Will your husband go get pizza and a burger?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what we’d do.”

I restrained myself from reaching across the table, smacking her upside the head, and yelling,
What is wrong with you, woman?
Instead I said, “So, do you cook more than one meal every night?”

“Not
every
night,” she said, starting to get huffy. “They’ll both eat mac and cheese.”

I heard Starr suck in her breath. I was sure the idea of boxed macaroni and cheese was sending her over the edge.

“It’s organic!” she cried when she noticed Starr’s disapproval. “It’s from Costco!”

“You want to take this one, Starr?” I asked, stepping away from the table.

I needed some space. I ducked into the library to see if they needed any help supervising the raffle for the class baskets. Each grade was responsible for putting together a basket. Participants bought tickets and dropped them into the buckets beside each basket; the winners would be chosen at the end of the day.

I sat down and was checking my email when I was interrupted.
“I can’t believe there is a live animal in the auction,” a woman named Veronica huffed at me.

“Huh? What?”

“There is a rabbit up for auction.”

I looked around and saw a rabbit in a wire cage. “Oh. Yeah. There he is,” I said, going back to my phone.

“What if whoever wins him has no intention of caring for him?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, don’t you think you should know? Aren’t you on the PTO? You can’t allow a live animal to go home with a family who is not capable of caring for it,” Veronica said.

“I’m certain that whoever wins him will be very good to him,” I assured her.

“Well, I won’t be happy if I win it,” a woman named Julia said, joining our conversation. “It shouldn’t be in the auction.”

“Look, I wouldn’t be happy if I won it, either,” I said. “That’s why I didn’t put a raffle ticket in the bucket for the bunny. If you don’t want it, put your ticket in the bucket by the iPad. It’s much easier to care for.”

“Well, I have no idea where my children put their tickets,” Julia complained. “They really wanted that rabbit, so they probably put all their tickets in that bucket.”

“See? This is exactly what I was worried about. Well, at least Julia knows she can’t handle a rabbit,” Veronica said, “but what about everyone else? Last year the Molloys won the guinea pig and it was dead within a month.”

“That’s why the committee went with a bunny this year. Supposedly they’re hardier,” I said.

“Are you trying to be funny?” Veronica asked me.

“Sort of. Look, I agree that a rabbit is a stupid idea for an auction
basket. However, the dumb thing was free, and the committee doesn’t turn away free stuff—ever. If they can raffle it off for a dollar, they’ll do that. I know that if someone really wanted a rabbit, it would be ideal if they thought through all of the pros and cons of pet ownership and then went to the store and bought one. But while that rabbit will probably be won by someone who has no idea what to do with it, I’m sure they’ll figure it out.”

“I just hope it turns out better than the Molloys and the guinea pig.”

“I need to find my kids and ask them if they put their tickets in the bunny bucket,” said Julia.

“Why did you let your kids put the tickets in that bucket, Julia?” I asked. “My kids wanted the rabbit, too, but I told them to put their tickets in any other bucket but the rabbit’s.”

“I didn’t let them. They chose to,” said Julia. “They are independent people who are capable of having thoughts and desires. Does anyone control you?”

“Yes. Society. We have rules and laws we have to follow.”

“I mean, does anyone in your house control you?”

“No, but I’m the adult in my house. So I get to be in charge.”

“Being an adult doesn’t give you the right to control children. They’re just smaller people, that’s all,” said Julia.

“Smaller people who live in my house and eat my food and expect me to buy them raffle tickets,” I reminded her. “Thus I get to choose where the raffle tickets go, and I said no bunny.”

“Do your children fear you?” asked Julia.

“I sure hope so,” I replied. “Or else I’m doing something wrong.”

“That’s not funny, Jen.”

For once I wasn’t trying to be funny.

I sighed and put down my phone. All day long I’d listened to
everyone else throw their mom-bombs at one another. It was my turn to join the war now and impart my words of wisdom that no one cared to hear. “See, what you don’t understand, Julia, is that I have no problem with my kids fearing me a little bit. I’m not their friend. I’m their mother. I’m always late turning in permission slips and money for field trips, but their homework is never late. I might be killing them slowly with sugar and nitrates, but when we’re in the car, they buckle up. I let my kids make decisions for themselves, but some things are not up for discussion. When it’s cold, they wear a coat. Every morning and every night, they brush their teeth. And finally, they cannot have a rabbit, because I don’t want to be the one stuck taking care of it. So I told them to put their tickets elsewhere, which I am confident that they did. I know I’m not alone on that last one. I think that
most
parents who purchased the raffle tickets are telling their children what they may and may not bid on. I’m sorry that your children have no rules. Maybe you should adopt some systems.”

If I had long enough hair to flip, I would have done it as I turned and left the library. As soon as I hit the hall I started searching frantically for my kids. “Gomer! Adolpha!” I yelled when I spotted them. “Where did you put your raffle tickets?” The winners were going to be announced soon, and even though I’d told my kids not to put their tickets in the bunny bucket, that didn’t mean they’d actually listened to me. I wasn’t sure what would be worse, the shame of facing Julia after winning the damn thing or having to tell Veronica it died quicker than the Molloys’ guinea pig.

Being a room mom is one of the worst jobs at elementary school, and that’s coming from the lady who is currently serving as the PTO president—a job that mostly involves listening to people yell at you about things you have no control over. If you’ve ever been a room mom, then you know it’s a job that is taken
very
seriously. It’s not a job for the weak. Tough decisions must be made when you’re the room mom, decisions like selecting the perfect gift for the teacher’s birthday or choosing the theme for the classroom basket that will be auctioned off to the highest bidder at the school carnival.

At least it’s easier to hear someone bitch, “I hate the colors of the hallways in the school. The PTO should paint them,” when you’re the PTO president and you have perks like your own parking spot and … hmm, I guess that’s about it as far as perks go. Still, what do the room moms get? Nothing. Except a tiny bit of power that they can wield over their fiefdom.

Not everyone is cut out to cross a room mom, and I learned that lesson early on.

It was back-to-school night, and I was visiting Adolpha’s kindergarten
classroom for the first time. Her teacher had just finished telling us about all of the exciting plans she had for the year. “Well, it’s been lovely meeting all of you tonight,” she said. “I hope those of you who are interested in volunteering in the classroom signed up on the sheet I put out earlier.”

I decided to check it out and see if she needed paper plates for anything.

The sheet was almost completely blank except for the line for room mom. Four women had written down their names. Yeah. Four. One, two, three, four. There are only three parties to plan, there are only two occasions to buy teacher gifts, there is only one carnival basket to design, yet four women wanted the job—so bad that the last two had scrawled their names in the margins of the paper. The other lines on the sign-up sheet were blank. No one was doing a craft or a game or a healthy (or unhealthy) snack for any of the parties. We just had a lot of ladies in charge of no one. I imagined that so many room moms could only be trouble. In my experience, when you get four women together all trying to make an event special for their child and his or her teacher, it can get … testy. Or maybe it’s only testy if I’m in the group. I’ve been told I can be a bit pushy.

All of those names crammed onto one line sort of irked me. What were they trying to prove? I loved my kid, too, damn it. I just didn’t want to prove it by elbowing my way in as room mom. I could do something, too, to make her parties special. But when I picked up the pencil I was suddenly accosted. “Hi, Jen. What are you thinking about signing up for?” asked Lucy, one of the four room moms.

“I was going to do paper plates, but I didn’t see a line for that. Do you guys not need plates for anything this year?”

“I’m not sure. Plates are something we can always get at the last minute,” Lucy said.

“Right. If you say so.
I
think plates are pretty important,” I said. “But since you don’t have plates as an option, I guess I’ll do the Halloween party craft.”

“Are you sure you want to do that?” she asked.

“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I?”

“Well, I just didn’t know you were crafty.”

“I’m fairly crafty. You should see my basement. Crafting is my dirty little secret.” I winked. She stared at me as if I had said my dirty little secret was running a dog-fighting ring.

I changed gears quickly. “Look, it’s a bunch of little kids. How crafty do you need to be? We’ll probably just make those lollipop ghost things.”

“Ooh, yeah, we can’t do those,” she said with fake sadness.

Now she was joined by Cadence, one of her fellow room moms. “Yeah, we’re doing a sugar-free party this year,” Cadence said.