Tag Archives: school

George Washington, Jesus, and a Catholic School Education

When my husband and I decided to send our daughter to private school, we thought she would get an exemplary education coupled with a solid religious foundation that would set her up to one day rule the world.

No pressure on her private school.

I think she’s getting a whole lot of religion and history, and everything else thrown at her, because it seems to be blending into an education puree in her head.

The Girl: So, do you know George Washington?

Me: Yes, I do.

Girl: He died.

Me: Yes, he did. (Where is this going?)

George WashingtonGirl: He died and told God to make cars, and roads, and cars…

The Boy: You said cars already.

Girl (talking over her brother): Well, he died. And God died.

Me: Jesus died.

Girl: God died.

Me: Same thing,

Girl: Oh, yeah.

She launches into an Our Father with God Bless America thrown in at the end. Because, why not. Luckily, we don’t go to Mass that often, so she hasn’t had the opportunity to regale the parish with her mish mosh of an Our Father.

My poor son who is in year three of Jesus School, keeps trying to correct her on everything from how to cross herself to the right words to pray to the saints. Although, he does say the saints should, “Hooray for us.”

I kind of like that better than pray for us. Who knows if the prayers will do anything to influence the big guy, but I could really use a “hooray” every now and again. Especially if it’s St. Jude. If the patron saint of lost souls hoorays for me, then there really isn’t anything I can’t do. I mean, he probably saw some really messed up stuff.

I am going to assume that my daughter will sort everything out eventually, but until then, I think I am going to enjoy her interpretation of how the Catholic faith works. Who knows, I may learn a little something about Jesus, and George Washington.

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Volunteer They Said. It Would be Fun, They Said.

I have always wanted to be the working mom who could have her cake and eat it too. Preferably two slices.

This year, I decided, during the Meet the Teacher extravaganza, to volunteer for every field trip and room party for the year.

I think I ate the whole cake.

Honestly, after the first field trip to pick apples I forgot that I had volunteered for EVERY party. Then I got the email for the Halloween party and I remembered.

Fuck me. I am going to take time off work and spend it with 30 first graders. You couldn’t pay me enough money to do that. And, after going to these school events, my kid’s teacher does not get paid enough. I’d like to start a campaign to raise the pay of first grade teachers by 50%.

Pretty much, the parties consist of kids rotating from station to station making crafts, eating snacks and making enough noise to deafen everyone in a three-mile radius.

You know, the first few parties I was on ring toss and musical chairs patrol and it wasn’t terrible. Okay, it was. There were some really sweet kids, and I made it a point to talk to my son about them afterward and not so gently nudge him in their direction. And there were obnoxious kids and I prayed that he wasn’t friends with them.

“Gee, isn’t Olivia sweet? You should talk to her.” Or, “So… are you friends with Wyatt??? No? Well, maybe that’s best. I think you should definitely keep having lunch with Tyler.”

Once again, I don’t know how teachers handle it all. I had a few kids who came up that I could pinpoint as bullies. The cocky boys who would grab at the rings to toss, or the ones who would look at me with a raised eyebrow and ask, “So, whose mom are you?” Little shits. I hope they stay far away from my kid.

Then, there were the greedy kids. They wanted two turns, three prizes, and they would hang on me, hoping I would give in. If only I could have treated them the way I did my own children. I would have said, “Oh, hell no. Get your sorry ass in time out and stop begging.” Instead, I was all sunshine and saccharine, “No, no. You just get one lollipop. Now move on to the treat table.”

And, oh my Jesus. The treat table. There was one mom who made all the treats because she had one of those kids who can’t have gluten, or nuts or anything fun. But, seriously, I would have eaten her treats. She made GIANT Rice Krispie treats, coal made out of Oreos and marshmallows, mini cupcakes with hearts, and she brought the good juice boxes. Not the Honest Kids crap, but Hi-C fruit punch. When does she have time for this? I would have brought bagged graham crackers and store bought cupcakes, and then I would have thought I did an excellent job.

Each party was so painful, but I kept going back because my son seemed to love that I was there. And, frankly, I really didn’t know how long that would last. When will I become an embarrassment to him? When will I be banned from these parties?

Finally, I was vindicated. At the last party for Valentine’s Day, I was told that I was labeled by the kids as, “the fun mom.” Because of this, I was allowed to leave the purgatory of ring toss/musical chairs and man the Bingo table. I didn’t know I had been the bastard stepmother and relegated to the ring toss corner because no one knew what to do with me. I just thought that was where I was needed. Nay, nay. I was not cool enough for Bingo. Not until I was, “fun mom.”

Each kid grabbed at the giant rolling cage that housed the Bingo balls and wanted to turn it themselves. I relented and let each kid turn it once. One kid said breathlessly, “Even Max’s mom doesn’t let us turn the crank.”

Yes, that’s right I am cooler than Max’s mom. Suck it, judgy parents.

I still wanted to put the little bastards who clung to me and grabbed at the Bingo cage in time out, but I very gently encouraged them to fuck off.

Finally, the party was done and I could take my little boy home. He walked tall and held my hand on the way out. And that is what makes me the “cool mom.”

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