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February 16, 2010

Guest Blogger Day

Filed under: Guest Blogger — Tags: , — jen @ 11:29 am

Today my friend Heidi is going to share her story of laughter, love and being a room mother for a preschool Valentine’s Day party. I know the holiday is over, but it’s such a good story, I asked her to share it. She had to write it in her own words, because I couldn’t do it justice. Please enjoy!

Adventures of a Pre-school Room Mother

The Valentine Debacle of 2010 all started when my name was arbitrarily plunked onto a list of room mothers (RM’s), whose responsibility it was to plan the Valentine’s Day party at my daughter’s parochial preschool.

Ok, no big deal, I think to myself, we’ll throw the kids a heart cookie, a few rounds of  Heads Up 7-Up, pass out some Sponge Bob Valentine cards and we’ll call it a day, right?

Oh, but how wrong I was.

We were instructed to focus the party activities on the “religious aspect of the holiday.” Religious aspect? Valentine’s Day? Just what exactly does God have to do with candy hearts and a diaper-wearing toddler toting weapons? This is just too much.

Anyway, the Stepford Wife of the RM’s immediately took control and wasted no time in firing off an e-mail to discuss the party. You know the kind – always impeccably coiffed, brings a perfectly baked quiche for snack day and gives the teacher an iPod for Christmas. So, for a party that should have taken two e-mails to plan tops after all was said and done I had waded through no less than 16 e-mails of detailed, in-depth discussion in which one RM continually referred to it as Valentime’s Day. What should we play? Juice boxes or milk? What flavor juice box? Cookies or pretzels? We’re planning a preschool party, not the inaugural ball, people!

After much deliberation and thought provoking conversation, we finally settled on the games (I briefly thought of suggesting a rousing game of Pin the Savior to the Cross but wisely decided that might be frowned upon).  It was decided that the children would color a heart picture and decorate it with “I Love Jesus” stickers (construction paper or regular paper? Pink or red? Jesus or cross stickers?) and for the main event. . . prepare yourself. . .

Jesus Bingo.

Now before I go any further, let me give a quick run down of the cast of characters so you know exactly what we’re dealing with here.

Me: Greasy hair (no time for a shower), wrinkled Rush concert t-shirt, faded jeans and store bought snacks neatly tucked into my Esprit book bag. Hey, this is a preschool party, not the prom, right? Who cares. They were just lucky I put a bra on – it was a special occasion after all.

The teacher: Cat sweatshirt ironically covered in dog hair, purple corduroy jeans, a fanny pack, a crooked banana clip in her disheveled hair and dangling ruby earrings. This chick looked like she stepped through some cosmic wormhole straight out of 1985. Listen, I’m no fashion plate myself but I’m pretty sure there’s a cut off age for sporting kittens on a sweatshirt. Like 8.

The Stepford Wife: Expensive clothes, designer shoes I’m sure – although I couldn’t tell Louboutin from Payless if my life depended on it – and her hair in a chignon. That’s right, I said chignon. She definitely doesn’t hit the Great Clips on coupon day, that’s all I’m saying.

Ryan: The kid who was screaming that his bottom hurt. This becomes important later.

Hannah: The token booger eating stinky kid (she smelled like feet) who spent the entire party harvesting yucks from her nose and eating them.

Colin: Wasted no time in informing me that he liked the smell of burps and proceeded to prove it by ripping one right in my face. He was my favorite.

Trey: Refused to take his hand out from the front of his pants because his “peanut” itched. Typical male.

My child: Beautiful, sweet smelling and perfectly behaved. Reality: Mis-matched shoes, messy pony tail and a clump of breakfast stuck to her cheek.

Back to the Debacle. . . .

It’s now Jesus Bingo time. The first kid to cover 5 in a row with candy hearts screams “Jesus!” (instead of Bingo – get it?) and wins the game. As the Stepford Wife is calling out numbers and letters, I’m walking around helping the kids. “BURRRRPP….is this a 9?” (Sorry, Colin, that’s a 6, your card is upside down) “I’ve got an O!” (No, Hannah, that’s not an O – that’s the freshly picked cornflake you just wiped on your bingo card.) After 45 minutes I begin to get bored and start fantasizing about what is in the teacher’s fanny pack. A Rubik’s cube? Peach schnapps? A taser?

After a few more minutes of the bingo nonsense with no end in sight, I took it upon myself to put an end to it. I did something despicable. Contemptible. Vile even.

I cheated.

Dear Lord in Heaven, I cheated at Jesus Bingo. In a church. At a kids party. For my own selfish purpose. It takes a special brand of jerk to cheat at Jesus Bingo. I’ll say it here and now that I’m not proud of it, but I moved one child’s candy hearts into a line and told her she had a Jesus. I’m pretty sure it’s warm where I’m going.

With Jesus Bingo now finally over, this left the kids approximately 10 minutes to decorate their papers and pass out their Valentines. Just to remind you – this is a gaggle of 3 year olds. My child can’t even find her socks in 10 minutes. The small semblance of order we had established quickly deteriorated into pure and utter chaos – screaming children running amok, I Love Jesus stickers flying about and I’m pretty sure someone got beaned with an errant banana clip. About this time we all figured out why Ryan’s bottom hurt – he went #2 in his Superman underpants (as evidenced by the lump that fell out of his pant leg). Hey, it’s not a party until someone craps themselves.

As I’m cowering in a corner, watching in horror as the calamity unfolds,  I kept waiting – nay, hoping - for Ashton Kutcher to spring out of the pee wee sized bathroom and scream that I’ve been Punk’d. Since no MTV cameras were forthcoming, I did the only thing a traumatized mother could do at that moment. I snatched up my child and ran away –  leaving the Stepford Wife to deal with the cat sweatshirts, gassy children, boogers and unsavory lumps on the carpet.

The moral of the story is this, my friends: If you are involuntarily volunteered for room mother duties, be busy. Or sick. Or move to another state. Most importantly, never ever cheat at Jesus Bingo. The guilt will haunt me for the rest of my days.

Thanks for listening.

February 15, 2010

“President’s'” Day Sale!!!!!!

Filed under: Writing — Tags: , — jen @ 12:27 pm
Okay, so neither Lincoln nor Washington is in this picture, but it's POINT BREAK, man!

Okay, so neither Lincoln nor Washington is in this group, but it's POINT BREAK people. Awesome.

In honor of two of America’s most beloved presidents, retailers like to offer the American public huge discounts on furniture, flooring and exercise equipment, which makes total sense. However, no one seems to know exactly how to spell “Presidents’ Day.” For that reason, I will not be buying a new elliptical machine or wall-to-wall carpet (with free haul away!) because I can’t trust someone who doesn’t know how to use an apostrophe correctly. And also I hear shag is out these days, so why bother?  What can I say, I’m a snob. I will do my part though, to help the American people appear to be smarter than these retailers by offering some tips on the English language.

It’s Presidents’ Day. The day celebrates 2 specific presidents – Lincoln and Washington. Make the “president” plural and show possession. Hence, apostrophe after the “s.” And try not to use more than one exclamation point, unless you’re writing a comic book.

It is not a “mute” point. It’s a moot point. Why are you picking on people who can’t speak? They have really good observations and it’s not fair to assume all their arguments are obsolete. Also, I defer to the great pop song “Jesse’s Girl” by Rick Springfield for an example of the proper term: “I wanna tell her that I love her but the point is probably moot.” If you can’t trust Dr. Noah Drake, who can you trust? 

Irregardless is not a word. It is regardless. It means “without regard.” “Ir” is a prefix that means “not” or “without.” “Less” is a suffix that means “without.” Irregardless is a double negative. It’s nonstandard. It’s a blend (or portmanteau) of “irrespective” and “regardless.” Does anyone besides lawyers or PhDs use the word “irrespective” anymore? Don’t use irregardless. You sound like a tool.

“Flustrated” is also not a word. You are either flustered or frustrated. If you are both, then say you’re both. It’s not a cute word like “ginormous” (which I love to use). Saying flustrated just makes people question how you dress yourself every day or even manage to breathe.

Saying “in terms of” is just  filler. Instead of saying, “In terms of medicine, I like narcotics.”  Instead, just say, “I like to get stoned.” It was probably invented by the same moron who coined the phrase, “think outside the box” which makes me want to jam a pencil in that person’s eye. Useless terminology created by people who think they’re clever. Good use of your expensive time there, upper-management.

Here’s one that comes from an isolated incident. My ex-boss was a fast talker. One day he came by our area and told us not to be “lacklastical.” It took the three of us a couple of minutes to figure out what the hell that meant. We believe he had two words floating through his brain – “lackluster” and “lackadaisical.” Those two words crashed into each other on their way out of his brain and decided it was easier to stick together than go back inside and fight off the other words. I just hope they’ve found a way to untangle themselves from each other, poor things.

I used to work with a woman who was an idiot. She was mean, passive-aggressive and stupid. She also wore sweaters that she had bedazzled herself. When our boss told her that she needed to maybe bone up on proper grammar because clients had mentioned she sounded like an idiot (I’m sure he said it much more diplomatically), she came to my office in hysterics. “What does he mean? We was raised right! I know how to talk!” That’s a direct quote.

Ensure means to make sure. Insure means you have a policy in force to protect something. To ensure your house is safe, insure it with a homeowner’s policy. I get a lot of calls on that one. (What? No one calls me, I’m a dork.) One of my favorite burger places has a sign in the drive-thru that says: “We want to insure you have a great food experience here. Please call”  I want to call and tell them to change their sign, but there’s no number. It just says “Please call” with no number or punctuation. You’d think they could afford a better sign, since they charge $6 for a cheeseburger.

These last two tips are from songs we all know and love. My friend Jen and I used to think the chorus to “Rocket Man” by Elton John was, “Burnin’ on the fumes of Ethanol.” The words are actually, “Burnin’ out the fuse up here alone.” I prefer our version and continue to sing it whenever I hear that song on the radio.

I love it when the lead singer yells out stuff during long instrumentals – pay attention to me! I’m the cool front man! Take for instance Queen’s “Another One Bites the Dust.” At some point, I believe Freddie Mercury screams out “Hey! I’m adopted!” I don’t know what he actually says and I don’t care.

There’s your holiday advice. Drink as much as you want, but don’t abuse our poor language. Feel free to argue my points, but I’m just trying to be helpful and you’ll end up sounding like the idiot. Actually, that would make me giggle, so go ahead and torture our beautiful language, it’ll give me more stuff to complain about. Happy Presidents’ Day and I hope you got some great deals!!!!!

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