I’m really not cut out to be the mother of an elementary school-aged child (just as I wasn’t cut out to be the mother of an infant, toddler or preschooler). Chooch has been bringing home such staggering amounts of fundraising bullshit, financial forms (I cover my face with my hair every time I walk past the office) and parent questionnaires (and HOMEWORK OUT THE ASS) that I’m feeling so overwhelmed. I cringe each time I open his backpack now.
On top of the fundraising shit (anyone in the market for a curling iron cozy or Jesus dish towels?), there are unlimited papers begging for volunteers. Market Day volunteers, holiday party volunteers (never again), other volunteering options that I can’t remember because I never finished reading the forms. But my favorite was a sign -up sheet for parents who are willing to come to class and speak about their occupations or talents.
Even if I weren’t petrified of interacting with waist-high children, what the fuck would I have to offer? Seriously. Talking about my occupation would take approximately 30 seconds.
“Hi, small children. I scan papers at a law firm. Sometimes I scowl at a spreadsheet. Then I blog on company time. I’d probably have really awesome things to tell you right now but instead I CHOSE TO HAVE A KID.”
Seriously, the end.
And talents? What talents do I have?
“Hi, small children. I write Christmas poems about serial killers and photoshop weeners all over pictures of my boyfriend. YES THAT’S RIGHT, YOUR FRIEND RILEY [see also: Chooch] IS A BASTARD. I also excel at character defamation.”
Maybe Henry can just go and talk about driving a fork lift.