I love the start of a new school year. As a kid, it meant new boxes of wonderfully fragranced crayons. The adult Me anxiously awaits the arrival of the Fall season when the leaves drop from the trees and the grass gets a bit brittle. Kind of what we’re experiencing right now in Texas, only with cooler temperatures. Ah, Fall, I shall miss you for I am going away for a long, long time. Let me start at the beginning.
This afternoon as I was pulling out of the school parking lot, my cell phone rang, displaying the mom’s name of one of my daughter’s classmates. She cheerfully informed me that our two girls had decided over lunch that a playdate was in order and ‘Is today good for you?’ Not having a reason to say no and with my daughter practically turning cartwheels in the backseat, I pulled over, hurriedly muttered something about minding her manners and sent them on their way. As I watched their SUV disappear around the corner, it hit me:
WHAT THE HELL HAD I JUST DONE?
Granted, we’d all been acquainted since last school year, but how well do any of us really know one another? Although, Play-Date Mom and I seem alot alike…you know, normal. Not at all like that picture perfect, not a hair out of place type Mommy who bakes from scratch and doesn’t spank. Now that I think about it, though, Ted Bundy seemed normal, too. Hmmm….
Did I pop a Xanax? I think not! Two hours later (yay, me!), there I was, standing in her living room, two girls running hither and yon when her daughter stops dead in her tracks and says:
IS IT TRUE A BAD MAN BROKE IN YOUR HOUSE AND YOU STABBED HIM IN THE HEART WITH A KNIFE?
I can picture all this in my head and it’s almost as funny as the Baby Ruth candybar/turd in the pool scene from Caddyshack. Almost.
Co-Defendant #2 smiled cherubically, eyelashes fluttering, cheeks tinged a becoming shade of pink as I hurriedly assured our host family that I was not, in fact, a knife-wielding wacko and got the hell outta Dodge. I’d like to pause at this point to remind everyone that it was about this same time last year that #2 told her teachers her bad behavior could be blamed on the fact that her Daddy and I were getting ourselves a good old- fashioned dee-vorce.
“I was just using my ‘imagining’, Mom”.
Most kids make their parents something cool like an astronaut or spy. Mine makes me a killer?!?! Hey, Sugarbuns, if you’re gonna make Mama bad, at least make her a HOT bad girl…think Pussy Galore of James Bond fame.