People I Want to Punch in the Throat (15 page)

No, none of us can afford for me to do my kids’ homework. Gomer and Adolpha will never get into college if they have to rely on me to do their homework. I can help out until about fourth grade, and then they’re screwed. I really need these kids to do their own work, because while I can do a badass puppy princess gingerbread doll, when they get to geometry they’re on their own.

I tease the Hubs a lot, but really he is the best husband I could hope for. He does a lot of things for our family that I despise doing. Besides putting up with my shit, the most important thing he does is drive the kids to and from school 90 percent of the time. The best part about this is it gives me a good twenty minutes of alone time, when I can have my quiet and empty house to myself. We work together. At home. All day. With no one else. So I live for these twenty minutes of solitude every day. They’re honestly the best part of my day.

As much as he tries to schedule his appointments around the drop-off and pickup times, there are times the Hubs just can’t make it and I’m the one who has to go get on that dreaded school pickup line. I fuck it up every single time.

One day when Gomer was in kindergarten, he was invited to go and play at his friend Braxton’s house down the street after school. Braxton rides the bus, and Gomer does not. I don’t really like the idea of my kids riding the bus. I’m a weirdo like that. Call me crazy, but I think that a vehicle designed to transport children should have seat belts. I like my kids strapped into their
hard-core five-point-harness car seats in my car. So I told Braxton’s mother that I’d bring Gomer over after the bus arrived. (I know, I know, there were much easier scenarios for this, like I could pick up both boys and bring them to her house, but since I don’t have a minivan I can’t do that, now can I?)

Adolpha was sick and had stayed home from preschool that day. She was a little feverish and pretty clingy, and with Daddy out at work appointments all day, she was looking for lots of love. I’d spent the better part of the day cuddling with her in my bed and watching endless episodes of
Olivia
.

Because I am rarely the one who picks up the kids, I wasn’t watching the clock. Suddenly I realized school was going to let out in two minutes and we needed to get Gomer.

I screamed, jumped out of bed, brushed my teeth (yes, I had not yet done that), and grabbed a hat. I bundled up Adolpha and out the door we went.

In our pajamas.

Yes, I knew we were in our pajamas. Well, I only knew because Adolpha said, “Mama, we’re still in jammies! We can’t go like this!”

I replied, “It’s okay, Adolpha, we’re just going to drive through the pickup line and grab your brother.”

“But Mama, it’s
soooo
embarrassing!” she wailed.

I’ve been embarrassing Adolpha from a very young age. I can’t imagine what middle school will be like. She’ll probably just tell everyone she’s adopted.

I glanced at the clock. The final bell had rung three minutes ago. Gomer was outside waiting for us now. We didn’t have time for this drama! I threw her in her car seat, buckled her up, and said my famous last words: “It’s okay, no one is going to see us.”

Ha! I should have listened to the wise four-year-old.

We drove to the school and found the end of the pickup line. It was practically at my house. A representative from almost every family from our school was lined up to pick up someone. I silently cursed both the school district for making the bus so damn expensive, resulting in so many kids needing to be picked up, and the city for not putting in proper sidewalks so my children could walk to school. (Looking back now, I realize that last curse was just a waste of breath, because honestly, was I really going to walk to school with a sick child to pick up my other kid?
Noooo
. Let’s be honest, I wouldn’t even want to walk to school with a healthy child!)

We inched our way up to the front and finally got to the driveway in front of the school. I scanned the faces of the few children left and could not see my son. I slowed down when I got to where his grade was corralled, and I could clearly see he was not there.

The teacher who was waving the cars through noticed I’d stopped but no one was climbing in my car. She came to investigate the problem. I rolled down the window. “Have you seen Gomer? I don’t see him out here,” I said.

“Gomer …” She thought hard.

“He’s in Mrs. Carlson’s class,” I said.

“Yes, I know. I’m her sub today. I’m trying to think when I saw him last. Now that you mention it, I never saw him come out of the building! Wait right here.” She ran inside the school and got the principal.
Oh great
, I thought. I grabbed a random child’s coat that had been discarded in the backseat and threw it over me awkwardly so my pajamas were not so noticeable.

The principal came up to the car window and asked, “Everything okay?”

“Gomer’s not here,” I said.

“Hmm,” he said. “That’s not like him.”

“No. No, it’s not.”

“Hmm, I wonder where he could be …”

I was starting to panic a bit. Where the hell was my kid? Why was everyone acting so calmly when my kid was missing? Do they usually lose kindergarteners? And then I remembered: the playdate. “Are the bus riders gone?” I asked.

“Yes, why?” the principal asked.

“I think Gomer rode the bus home with Braxton. I told him not to, but I’m sure that’s where he is. I’d better go so I can meet him at the bus stop.” I felt so much better now. I was positive that’s where he was. I remembered him chattering at breakfast that morning about getting to ride the bus, and I reminded him that I was going to pick him up. I was sure he’d stowed away on the bus when the substitute teacher wasn’t looking. I just wanted to get out of there so I could go meet the bus and confirm my suspicions. I tried to drive away and hide my embarrassing ensemble, but the principal wasn’t having it.

“You’d better come in so we can call the bus company. I’d feel better knowing for sure Gomer’s on the bus. Just pull over there and park and come on into the school.”

Noooooo!

Good God, man, I’m in my pajamas!
I screamed inside my head. And I wasn’t in “loungewear” pajamas that could easily pass for yoga pants or something like that. I was in full-on fleecy jammies with matchy-matchy top and bottom. Pink with black bunnies. There was no mistaking what I was wearing.

I looked around. A crowd was starting to form. All I could see was a sea of skinny jeans, ankle boots, blanket sweaters, and Dolce and Gabbana sunglasses. I could see perfectly lined and
glossed lips whispering to one another:
Gomer’s missing! Why won’t his mother get out of the car with the principal? What’s wrong with her?

Now I was frantic to get away. I couldn’t let the Dolce moms see me in my fleecy jammies. I didn’t have
much
of a reputation to uphold. I’m usually up at the school in ill-fitting cargo pants and shirts with permanent food stains across my bosom—it’s like a shelf where I can store leftovers I’ll never eat. I’m never the well-dressed mom at any event I attend. If I’m going out to a social thing, I tend to throw on a scarf to cover the stains on my shirt that are already there and the new ones I’ll surely acquire that night. I have one or two “cute” hats that are supposed to be stylish, but I need to stop wearing them, because I keep cutting my hair shorter and shorter and now I look sort of bald in my hats. The idea of squeezing myself into skinny jeans and toddling around in high-heeled boots is downright laughable, but I could get used to the giant Dolce and Gabbana sunglasses—then I wouldn’t have to worry about my raccoon eyes. Nobody expects much from me when I show up everywhere in cargo pants and Crocs, but my kids and I would be social pariahs if my bunnies and I stepped out of the car.

“Could you call the bus company?” I begged. “I’ll run over to Braxton’s stop and meet the bus. If the bus company says Gomer’s not on the bus, you can call my cell.”

I glanced at the dashboard clock. If I left now, I’d have just enough time to run home and pull on some clothes before the bus got there. I’d have to get out of the car at the bus stop and see Braxton’s mom, who, I was sure, would be in her own fabulous outfit. But I had to leave right
now
!

I tried to start my car, but the principal stopped me. “I’m not
really comfortable with that, Jen. I think you should come in so we can call the bus company together,” he said. “Just park the car and come on in.”

I could feel sweat forming on my upper lip as I watched the Dolce moms watch me. I was going to have to get out of the car and show everyone that I’d come to school in the middle of the day in my pajamas.

Then I had a genius thought! “Well, I have my little girl and she’s sick. I can’t leave her in the car alone.…”

“Oh! I’d be happy to stay with her!” one of the Dolce moms said.
Really? Are you kidding me, lady? Last week I was walking behind you carrying an armful of treats into the school and you let the door slam in my face, and
now
you’re willing to help?
She was probably hoping Gomer really had been kidnapped so she’d have a good story for the girls at bunko on Thursday night.
“It was so weird, you guys. She didn’t even seem worried he was missing. It was like she knew where he was—because she’d just buried his body!”

The teachers, the principal, and the Dolce moms all stared at me and waited. I was out of excuses. What else could I do?

“Well … okay. Thanks,” I said. Shit. I slowly picked up the kid-sized coat, wishing it was a full-length cape. I had just started to climb out of the car and into infamy when the school secretary ran out of the building shouting, “Gomer’s on the bus! Gomer’s on the bus!”

“Oh, thank God!” one of the Dolce moms screamed.
Did she actually wipe a tear from her eye? Seriously? Come on, lady, it wasn’t
that
dramatic
.

“Great! Well, I better get going so I can meet him at the bus stop.” I started up the car. “Thanks, everyone, for your help and concern!” I yelled as I burned rubber getting out of there.

During the two-minute ride to the bus stop I went back and
forth between being mad at Gomer for disobeying me (and subsequently mortifying me in front of his classmates’ moms) and being mad at myself for leaving the house in my pajamas:
Really, Jen? Could you be any more of an idiot?

I had to go past the bus stop to get home, and I could see Braxton’s mother standing there waiting. She waved me down as I got closer. “The bus isn’t here yet,” she said, “but the driver called. Gomer is on there.”

“Yes! Thank you. The secretary was able to reach him, too. I just need to run home real fast and then I’ll be right back.”

“You do? They’ll be here any minute. I thought you might want to speak to Gomer.”

“I do! I will! I’ll be right back!” I sped off. I was tired of trying to hide my bunny pj’s from everyone. I was beginning to look absolutely insane.

I ran home and threw on some dirty clothes (because dirty clothes are at least better than fuzzy jammies) and got back to Braxton’s bus stop before the bus arrived. Braxton’s mother was gone. Instantly I started missing my comfy jammies.
Where did she go? Why did I even change?
I wondered. As soon as Gomer stepped off the bus and saw me he burst into tears. He knew he’d made a mistake and gotten everyone worried. Before I could decide if I should let him go to Braxton’s or not, Braxton’s mother came out of her house and announced that the playdate was canceled. “We’ve been exposed to lice!” she announced. “Beatrix has a friend over from preschool, and I just noticed that her friend has lice. Her mother is on her way to get her, but I have to cancel Gomer. Surely you don’t want to take that chance?”

She was right.
Lice!
The worst four-letter word of elementary school. “Ugh! We don’t want lice,” I said, with apparently a little too much disdain.

“You know, lice are attracted to the
cleanest
heads of hair,” she emphasized.

“Well, we should be fine, then, because Gomer’s hair is disgusting,” I replied.

She looked horrified.
God, no one gets my sense of humor
, I thought.

All my worrying about ruining Gomer’s social life for the next four years was wiped away by that one change in events. The Dolce moms had a field day with a lice outbreak in their own ranks, and they quickly forgot about Gomer’s mom and her bunny pajamas, letting me slide back into obscurity. The next day I went out and spent $100 on assorted yoga pants so now I can lounge and cuddle in peace and look somewhat presentable when I have to pick up my kids at school.

Now if I could just remember to wear a bra …