Thursday, July 24, 2014

F for PBK back to school

Can we take a moment to talk about all that is wrong with Pottery Barn Kids' home page right now?  I understand that dissing catalog images is so en vogue right now that it borders on rip-your-eyes-out-if-you-see-one-more-version-of-it, but if you take a look at this image I think you'll agree it needs addressing.  



Did you see it?  Okay, so you agree then.  

Let's disregard for the moment that it's July 24th - the heart of summer - and pottery barn wants us already sharpening pencils and smelling school bus drivers for alcohol.  Overeager seasonal marketing is a battle we lost a long time ago (see phrase: Christmas in July) so there's no point in trying to rehash that war here.  

What is worth  discussing, however, is the incredible misrepresentation of what "back to school" will look like when it finally does arrive...38 days from now.  Do you see any parents standing to the side of these children looking as though they've just gone through hell trying to get their child out the door on time?  I don't.  No father rests wearily by, still in his pajamas because who has time to shower themselves when the kids have to get ready for school?  There is no mother in the background holding a pamphlet on boarding schools and tubal ligation.  False advertising, I say!


Also, not one of these kids' faces is tear-stained because they're not allowed to wear their bathing suit as underwear.  In fact, nothing on these kids is stained.  It's as if the first day of school arrived and not a single bowl of eat-that-cereal-because-we-do-not-have-time-for-pancakes spilled on any of them.  Or even a fine-here-are-some-damn-pancakes-but-please-just-eat-because-carpool-will-be-here-in-8-minutes syrup mustache remains on any of their faces.  No, These kids are clean, and happy, and well groomed.  Pottery Barn Kids would have you believe that your kid is going to sit there admiring her personally monogrammed over-sized owl backpack while you Heidi-french braid her hair. 


Even though, the only time she even touched a hair brush in the last two months was to see if it would work on the dog (it didn't).  

They're also are pedaling a sweater lie.  Your son who has gone the entire summer in baggy, mostly not-dirty, underwear, and not a stitch else, is suddenly down with you putting a sweater on him?  A thick one? 


Yeah, kids love a nice thick sweater with a backpack strapped over them.  That is absolutely a thing.

Let's see, what else?  Oh yeah, your kid is actually going to hold their own bag!  


100% of parents can now rest assured that they will not feel like a camel crossing a parking lot dessert while carting three children's junk from the car to the cubby.  (Like those backpacks even fit in a cubby).  You will not hear a single complaint about how the bag is too heavy, which is maybe why they shouldn't have insisted on bringing a plate to school.  Why a plate?  Who knows, but they wanted it and it seemed like the quickest way to get out of the house.  There will be no grumbling about itchy shoulderstraps/hanging strap/bottom part/air.  Kids will hoist that bag, roughly half their size, on their backs and happily let you take a first day of school photo of them.  Mmmhmm, that's how it works.

 Also looks like everyone remembered a water bottle.  


According to Pottery Barn, you're absolutely not going to get screamed at by a six year old for ruining everything because they don't have a water bottle that looks just like everyone else's water bottle and therefor signifies they are allowed into the tribe.  Nope, you are golden because Pottery Barn kids have got their shit together.  They are super-psyched about summer being over and school starting because they were getting really tired of getting to do fun stuff all day and frankly that common core isn't going to do itself.  Of course, looking at these kids, it seems very unlikely any of them have ever heard of common core...

So I cry fowl Pottery Barn Kids.  I do not accept this bill of goods you are hocking.  I'm going to go into my school year clear-eyed and low-expectationed.  If either child doesn't kick the other before the we get in the car for drop off, I win.  If even just one person hasn't cried before 8:30 bell, huzzah!  If that one person isn't me because my baby is going to his very first day of school and my little angel girl is the smartest most amazing person and I'm going to miss her all day long, well then that will be a god damned miracle.  

Those are my expectations Pottery Barn.  Maybe lower yours, just a little, and make it easier on a parent who is just innocently visiting your website in search of a dinosaur costume her child can wear for for Halloween...98 days from now.

Thursday, January 30, 2014

Parenting and Politics Apparently Don't Mix (if you're a moron)


http://www.keepcalm-o-matic.co.uk/p/clear-eyes-full-hearts-can-t-lose-10/
It has been noted previously that my mom is better than your mom.  It's okay, she's better than my kids' mom too.  I can say this with easy conviction because, while raising four kids, she also rose to the top of her field and still found time to make up a song and dance to help us all remember our home phone number.  I still remember it to this day, it was THAT catchy.  I can't remember how to subtract fractions, but I remember that phone number.  And she did a lot of this while my dad was traveling for his career.

My dad worked for the airline industry and it can't be a big shock that that career path involved a lot of traveling.  And when I say a lot of traveling I mean he spent two years living in California when we were all pretty young.

I don't remember a ton from that time but I do know once, when we were visiting him, we went to an out-door movie theater at night and while I was sitting on the ground, ants crawled into my underwear and were just like, hanging out in there.  I literally had ants in my pants.  When we got back to my dad's condo that night and he realized why I was jumping around like I had ants in my pants, he walked me over to the bathroom, flushed the ants down the toilet and we waved bye-bye to the ants.  That image of his face as he told me to wave bye-bye to the ants from my underpants as they went in circles around the toilet bowl, is stuck in my head (like the phone number thing).

From Hasbro...and my childhood!
I'm sure there were lots of other things that happened on our visits to California to see Dad, or our visits to London with Dad, or our trips to Spain or Des Moins, or wherever we went in pursuit of quality time with Dad, but I don't remember too many of them.  I also don't remember anyone ever saying dad was a deadbeat or shirked his paternal responsibilities or anything like that.  I remember hearing Dad was doing amazing things for the airline industry and mom was a superhero.

Of course neither of my parents were running for governor of Texas.  Apparently, if you are a parent who's career path has taken you away from your children for any length of time, and you run for governor of Texas, you are pretty close to the worst parent alive.  That's right, the latest from the political crap-storm is an indictment of working parents.  It comes in the form of criticism of Texas Governor hopeful Wendy Davis who spent time away from her kids (about 19 years ago) to attend law school.

I don't care if you are a leftist commie who thinks personal wealth is as antiquated as shaving your armpits or if you're so far right even your sensible pearl necklace thinks you're uptight, attacking a political candidate for trying to achieve a personal goal - to better themselves and their community - which may have meant extra time away from their kids, is wrong.

Attacking a parent for working is wrong.  Attacking a parent for choosing to stay home is wrong. 

I've been a SAHM, a WAHM, and a WOOHM.  I may be making that last one up, but let's just say, I've looked at the parenting cloud from both sides now and I can say, with ease, that no matter how you choose to approach career and parenting, you're going to screw those kids up.  It's not a campaign you're going to win.  It's more like a Sisyphean challenge designed to leave you in a puddled mess on the floor filled with self doubt and wine.

Now let's ignore for the moment how incredibly sexist this smear campaign is (which, make no mistake, it completely is as it would never have been lobbied against a male candidate) and focus on how detrimental it could be for our society.  Do we really want to discourage parents from working?  Or working so hard that their kids might notice they work?  Or working so hard that they might miss a ballet recital or a bake sale or, god-forbid, a trophy ceremony?  Louis Pasteur had five children, losing three to typhoid which spurred him on to pioneer the field of vaccinations.  I imagine that work made him miss out on a few after school Lute lessons but I wouldn't call him a bad dad.  Clint Eastwood has seven children, from five marriages, and has starred in so many movies Wikipedia refuses to list them all.  Most of those movies made him leave town to film.  Probably, his kids noticed.  But if he hadn't, we never would have had "Pink Cadillac!"  Connie Britton is a working mom for Christ's sake and there isn't a person in the world who doesn't love that woman! 

So I would encourage the people (who's names I won't use here because I don't want to add to their political fervor) who are heading down the path of pissing off parents for deciding to work, as part of their political strategy, to shut up.  If you can't find anything bad to say about a candidate other than that she pursued a career while parenting, felt guilty about it as we all do, but did it anyway, then maybe you should move on.  Or, if you prefer, I could introduce you to about 460,127 parent-bloggers who work and parent and would be happy to talk at length about your misguided notions.  Just be ready to read a lot of top-five lists with snappy graphics and witty sub-titles and be linked to many....MANY, Pinterest posts.

Okay...maybe just one name.  Here's a photo of Bristol Palin who recently blogged about what an awesome conservative parent she is.
Photo courtesy of Dancing with the Stars...which she worked on while parenting!

Thursday, October 31, 2013

The Holloween Feminist Manifesto


photo of Senator Wendy Davis, courtesy of rhrealitycheck.org
It has been well noted that Halloween is a big deal here in Los Angeles.  In a town of people who have chosen careers creating make-believe for other people to enjoy, it's not a stretch to assume a day built to that very sentiment is popular. 

And this year, the first in a long time, The Husband and I have been invited to a grown-ups only, absolutely no kids, at night-time, past children bedtime, dress-up Halloween party.  It is rather monumental. 

In past years we have let The Kid dictate our costumes.  Last year I was Mother Gothel and The Husband was a "Ruffian" to her Rapunzel.  The year before that I was a full on matching Sleeping Beauty (the dress was my mother's day present).  The year before that we were Superman, Superwoman, and Supergirl.    But now, faced with an adult party where The Kid wouldn't be around to lend clarifying-compliment to our costumes, we were adrift on deciding who to be.  I blame The Husband.

I came up with several excellent ideas: Senator Wendy Davis and a backwater yokel male Texas legislator (who would, naturally, look like Col. Sanders); Veronica Corningstone and Ron Burgandy, Lena Dunham and her weirdo rockstar boyfriend.  But for whatever reason, the husband pooped on all of them. 

Finally yesterday I texted the husband that he was not to come home that night without a costume.  Apparently he could tell I meant business because he took his lunch hour at a local halloween shop and texted me the following:


Willy Wonka?  That lacked both timeliness and obvious irony which are requirements for a truly good Halloween costume!  And moreover, what the hell could I dress up as to go with that?!  The Husband offered that he could "just be a dandy" if that helped - and especially since he couldn't find the bow tie. 

You'll be surprised to hear that didn't help.

I gave up.  I'd just do something lame and get over it.  Who has time to get wrapped up in these kinds of things anyway? (Secretly me, because these are the types of things that play on a continuous loop in the back of my head at all times during the day.  I am an excellent self-disparaging multi-tasker).

Then last night, along with his "dandy" costume, the husband also brought home a copy of Sheryl Sandberg's book Lean In

Photo courtesy of http://leanin.org/book/

I picked it up after the kids went down and have barely been able to put it down since.  Sheryl Sandberg is the COO of Facebook and she should have titled her book Lean In to Katy's Soul, because that's what it feels like to read it.  If you have ever questioned your roles as mother, executive, or modern-woman - or if you've ever been married to, son to, or employer of/employee to, one of those women, then this book is for you.  She breaks down the systematic subjugation of women in power roles with precise ease and inspirational support.  Sheryl is successful enough in life, both personally and professionally, for you to take her words seriously and self-depricating enough for you to want to shake her and say "Lady, if you can't believe in yourself and your authority, what hope is there for the rest of us?!"  In short, I am smitten.

One of the most profound moments in the book for me came very early on when she talked about finding your seat at the table (this is literally chapter two so you won't have to read long to be affected, but keep reading beyond that to continue to be inspired).  It points to how women are often the architects of their own glass ceiling.  From the verbiage we use to describe ourselves and our accomplishments, to the roadblocks we put up to achieving success.  We often decide not to pursue a path because we don't think we'd be good at it, or we don't have a background in it.  We decide to sit on the outskirts of a meeting rather than at the table where the actual meeting is taking place.  We instinctively disparage anyone who tries to compliment our work - don't they realize we're actually frauds?!  We have known for YEARS that men earn 50% more in the workplace than we do as women, and yet we still take jobs that pay us less! 

Now Sheryl wasn't indicting women here.  She was very sweet about the whole thing and played the role of cheerleader rather than judge and jury.  Which was good, because that continuous loop in the back of my head was judgement enough.  And honestly, rightly so.  As each word traveled into my brain, I could see how I had done, and continue to do, this very thing. 

After having both of my children I have stumbled getting back into the work force.  It was never my intention to actually leave the work force, but both times I was pregnant I lost my job, and since very few people look to hire someone who in the near future will need to take an 8-10 week paid break, I found myself post-partem unemployed.  I was mommy-tracked. 

I love spending time with my kids - I'm not a monster - but I know that being home full-time with them is not my dream.  I want to be in the work force.  The challenge arises, for any stay-at-home parent, when you are the primary care giver for your kids but you're also trying to work.  This is not an achievable goal.  Yes, people can have it all, but not if having it all means you think you can do two full-time jobs that have the same work hours.  You are woman, not magician. 

But how do you make finding, or doing, work a priority when you are caring for your kids?  I do have a babysitter whom we love and trust, and friends and family more than willing to help when I have a meeting or a job interview, but I know that I could be more impactful if I could devote real time to looking.   

I thought about the men I know who found themselves unemployed when they had kids.  I remembered wondering at the time of their babies' birth if they would become stay at home dads while they looked for work, as I had done.  And sitting on the couch last night, reading Sheryl's book, I knew the truth of things.  They had not become stay at home dads because they didn't want to be stay at home dads.  They hadn't made themselves that because they weren't juggling a mental vortex of cost, responsibility, nature vs. nurture, guilt and a 101 other items that would tell them they couldn't pursue their goals to the full extent because they should care for their babies.  They had found the help they needed and went on about achieving personal success. 

I had not. 

So who's fault is that?  I can't blame a male dominated business world for that.  I can't say it's all so unfair because the game is rigged when I'm the one who rigged half the game to begin with.  Fuck: I forgot to sit at the damn table!

So the first order of business was to write a "thank you blog" to Sheryl Sandberg (check).  The next order of business is to get outside help with childcare, not because I've earned it, or want it, or need it.  But because that is just the way it's going to be.  I will not allow judgement of it to make me subjugate my own self - there will be plenty of that to go around according to chapters 3-11.  The third order of business is to decide for myself what the hell I want to be for Halloween and not blame my lame ass costume on the choices someone else made for himself.  If I want my costume lame so be it.  If I want my costume (or future) fantastic, well that's on me too.

So I will be going as Senator Wendy Davis, real-life supehero.  I'll bring my Dandy Husband along to the party, and then I will get a damn job. 

Look Sheryl, I'm leaning in! 

Wednesday, October 16, 2013

The Kid Questionnaire

The Kid ruminates on Menchies, aquatic journeys, and the awesomeness of me in her very own Proust Questionnaire.


ME
Alright will you pause Jake and the Neverland Pirates for a minute so that I can--

THE KID
What?
ME
I want to give you a questionnaire.
THE KID
What’s a questionnaire mean?

ME
A questionnaire is like a bunch of questions that I ask you to learn about you and what you’re like.

THE KID
What am I like?

ME
Well, we’ll find out.  Sound good?  Okay--

THE KID
But I don’t waaaaaaaana do it.

ME
Well, if you do it, I’ll take you to Menchies later.
The Kid squeels with delight!

ME (CONT’D)
Okay, ready? What is your greatest fear?

THE KID
What fear?

ME
Like what are you afraid of?  What are you most afraid of in the world.

THE KID
Bats.

ME
Bats.  Okay--

THE KID
No.  Spooky stuff.  Spoooooky stuff.

ME
Okay, what is your favorite occupation?

THE KID
Kitties.

ME
Kitties is not an occupation --

THE KID
What’s a occ-

ME
An occupation is something that keeps you busy.  It can be a job or a game that you play or --

THE KID
I know!

ME
Yeah, what?

THE KID
Jake!

ME
(typing)
Watching--

THE KID
TV

ME
Any TV or Jake?

THE KID
Any TV

ME
Okay.  Which living person do you admire the most?

THE KID
Mommy and daddy

ME
Aaaaaaaaw. 

THE KID
That’s very sweet.

ME
When and where were you the happiest?  Of your whole life.

THE KID
With my mommy and dad.

ME
Any particular time?

THE KID
Anytime, any place they take me to.  (Then in a whisper) Mommy, mom, can we go swimming please?

ME
(whisper)
Too cold.

THE KID
(whisper)
Aaw.  Please?

ME
What is the trait you most deplore in yourself?

THE KID
Trait?

ME
Trait means...is there anything about you that you don’t like?

THE KID
Um, when I get sick.

ME
Okay.  What is your--

THE KID
Gotta go potty right now

ME
Okay, I’ll wait--

THE KID
Write that down.
(laughing hysterically)
Write that down!

I wait while The Kid gets her potty on.  She returns post haste, but having washed her hands, naturally.

THE KID (CONT’D)
Okay, questionnaire.

ME
What is your greatest extravagance?

THE KID
What is stravagance?

ME
Extravagance means like something that it doesn’t matter how much it costs or how much you do it, you just love it.

THE KID
How much it costs?

ME
Yeah, how expensive it is.  It doesn’t matter, you just love it more than anything and you just don’t care.

THE KID
New Toys.

ME
What is your favorite journey?

Long pause.

THE KID
When I go hiking.

ME
I thought you didn’t like hiking.

The kid whispers something unintelligible.

ME (CONT’D)
What?

THE KID
It’s tiring.

ME
It’s tiring?  Do you have another favorite journey?  What’s your FAVORITE journey?

THE KID
With Grandma when we go on the boat.

ME
(sotto)
That’s my favorite journey too.
I wink at her.

ME (CONT’D)
What do you consider the most overrated virtue?

THE KID
What’s virtue?

ME
Virtue is a thing that a person does that is supposed to make them good.  Like someone who shares a lot or someone who is always honest --

THE KID
Lying.

ME
Well that’s not a virtue, that’s like the opposite of virtue.  But the question is what do you think is a virtue that’s not really important?

THE KID
Important is paying attention to your mommy or daddy when your walking.

ME
That is really important.  But what’s not important?

THE KID
Holding hands.

ME
That’s not important?

THE KID
It’s overrated.

ME
On what occasion do you lie?

THE KID
Lie?

ME
Tell a fib.  Do you ever a lie?  Do you ever not tell the truth?

THE KID
Yes.

ME
When?

THE KID
I say that I have a new toy, but I really don’t.

ME
Which words or phrases do you most overuse?

THE KID
What’s overuse?
ME
Overuse is you say it way to much.  Is there anything you say too much of?

THE KID
I talk too much.

ME
You talk too much? You do talk a lot, but is there any one phrase you think you say a lot?  Some of the phrases I know you use are “Safety,” “Bung-head” ---

THE KID
Dumb-head?

ME
No, bung-head--

THE KID
Bung-head.  Write that.

ME
Okay.  What do you consider your greatest achievement?

THE KID
What’s achievement?

ME
Achievement is something you got done and you really wanted it to get done, and it was hard, but you did it anyway.

THE KID
My bedtime checklist.

ME
Yup.  That’s a good one.  Where would you like to live?  Anywhere in the world?  Any kind of answ--

THE KID
Closer to school!

ME
What is the quality you most admire in a pers--

THE KID
What’s admire?

ME
Admire means that you like that about them?

THE KID
I already said Mommy and daddy, what more--

ME
No, it’s not what person do you like.  But what kind of thing about people do you like the most.  Like, do you like that they are--

THE KID
Funny.

ME
Funny?

THE KID
Fun.

ME
And what is your motto?

THE KID
What’s motto?

ME
Motto means...do you have anything that you say...like words to live by.  Like “always listen to mommy or”--

THE KID
Yeah, always listen to mommy

ME
--or “always have sugar in the afternoon,” or “always look your best,” or anything like that?  Anything you tell yourself during the day to get going?

THE KID
Um.  I love mommy.
The Kid then leans over and starts typing on the keyboard signaling this session is over.

ME
Don’t!  You’re going to make it all go away!

THE KID
Can I type now?

ME
No, go type on your own computer.

THE KID
But I don’t have one.

ME
Well, you should buy one.

Today's post was inspired by my own Proust Questionnaire - one taken last week, and one taken when I was college.  They are up at Shea Magazine which is having its one year anniversary today so head on over there to wish them well and read all the stupid things I thought when I was 21.

Tuesday, October 8, 2013

Hi, it's nice to meet you. I'm covered in poop.

As many of you know, The Kid recently started at a new school.  This can be a challenging time of trying to find a way to fit in, make friends, figure out where everything is.  And I'm sure it's hard on the kids too.

One of the ways the New School helps parents make this adjustment is by putting everyone on a committee.  The New School is BIG on committees.  Every parent has to volunteer for at least one - it's contractual (I'm not even making that up, you're one step shy of signing a blood oath).  But, it really does help you to make friends - if in no other way than that you bond over having to be part of a committee!

And I really like my committee because they're going to let me write funny things (hopefully they'll be funny...dear God, let them be funny so I don't feel like a dumb-ass at The Kid's New School).  And the people on my committee, it turns out, are really great too.  I met them all this morning and I couldn't be happier. 

It was our first committee meeting and I had to bring the baby so I was worried it would put me on shaky ground.  But everyone was really sweet about it, and they appropriately goo-ed and gaa-ed for him.  And generally the baby was pretty well behaved.  I gave him a streaming supply of snacks to keep him happy and quiet while we discussed our plans.  Eventually, though, he tired of eating and wanted out of his stroller.  It wasn't really a place he could easily be (read: not kill himself while) crawling around, but he was loudly insistent.  I was willing to try in the hopes he would play quietly in one spot and let me continue on in the meeting.  A foolish hope, I know...  But he did it!  He happily stood at a chair pushing cars around on its seat and didn't mind that I was neither engaged with, nor really paying attention to him.  I was able to be a part of the conversation.  I think I said some interesting things and may have gotten one or two jokes in there too.  All the while he played on his own.  It was like a scene from the Twilight Zone it was so unbelievable.

I liked how things were going - considering our committee also has a person from school administration on it, and school authority figures still give me the willies - that is really saying something.  I believe it was somewhere around the discussion of if we should write about car pool or not, that I realized I needed to check in on The Baby because a familiar odor was starting to waft my way from regions south of his diaper-border.  The usual method for confirming a loaded back side on a baby is to stick one's nose right up into the broadside of his backside and take a good sniff.  This did not seem like a cool thing to do in front of a bunch of new-to-me people.  So I casually pulled at the back of his diaper to see what I could see.  Now, the reason this latter method is not more often used than the totally uncooth facial-assault method is because you, as the parent, run the risk of getting a little poop on you.  Which I did. 



I didn't panic though.  This isn't my first time at the poopy diaper rodeo and the conversation happening amongst the adults was particularly engaging, so no one really noticed what was happening over at our end of the table.  I quickly grabbed a wipe from my bag and de-pooped my hand.  I scooped The Baby up and excused ourselves to go make a quick change.  There was general jocularity over remembering that part of childhood - "no one misses that!"  But I would be right back, so no big deal.

It was when I lay The Baby down in the customary diaper change position, that I realized those words were a big ass lie.  My arm came out from underneath him coated in the poop that was formerly in his diaper.  It had squeezed its way up and out, and was now clinging to every forearm hair of my right arm along with his pants, shirt and sweat jacket.  I had not even remembered feeding him corn, but the proof was self-evident.

When I removed his shirt the poop spread all up his back and partially into his hair.  When his pants came off, they landed on me and my pants.  Wipe after wipe slogged away at a seemingly endless supply of it. When all was finally cleaned up he lay there in only a new diaper as every item of his clothes, save his socks, had taken a hit and were now wrapped up in the completely soiled changing pad.  I washed myself and his self as best I could in a community sink and resigned to leaving the meeting early.  I had my car keys in my pocket and could just email them an explanation and apologies later.  That would have been the smart thing to do.  After all, the boy was mostly naked.

Of course, that's not at all what I did.  For one thing, while I had my keys; the diaper bag, stroller, favorite stuffed animal, snack packs and myriad other things I require to go anyplace with that child, were all still in the meeting room.  For another thing, I really wanted to be a part of the committee and not have them think I was a giant flake.  I quickly raided The Kid's cubby for extra clothes and brought my son back to the meeting in a rainbow tie-die t-shirt 4 sizes too big for him and pink starred jeggins that scrunched so much excess fabric at the bottoms he actually looked to be wearing leg warmers al la Jennifer Beales in "Flashdance."

He was clean though, so who cares, right?  These things happen.  No one seemed to notice he was in an entirely new outfit and I was back into the conversation. 

The thing about poop though, is that while visually it is incredibly repelling, it's physical appearance is nothing compared to its olfactory assault.  You can wipe it all off, but it's still gonna stink. 

He still stinks.

I still stink.  I know it.

That lady across the table just wiped her nose.  Does she know it?  That guy coughed.  Is it because he can't breath due to the fact that I smell like a gas station bathroom?  Oh god, I didn't even check my sweater!  Is there actual poop on my sweater?  Am I sitting here in a room of new people that I am going to try and be friends with for the next six years of my life while I have actual stinking poop on me?!  I'm going to have to get a new committee.  Oh no, they're going to stick me on fundraising!  This is like that time that girl in 5th grade farted during assembly and then had to transfer schools...only this is worse because it's actually shit!  I have to get out of here.  Maybe I could get the baby to start crying and then blame an early departure on him.  How bad is it to pinch your own baby?

I have next to no memory of what was discussed in the meeting during this time.  I may or may not have volunteered The Husband to do something that is due next week.  That's his problem.  Mercifully, however, it didn't go on for much longer.  Hopefully that was coincidental and not because people's eyes were starting to water.   I tried to give everyone a wide berth on exiting, which was not easy given we were all going through one tiny doorway and I was pushing a poop-laden stroller out the door that got stuck on the the threshold.  And I say poop-laden because of course at this point, I was convinced (probably accurately) that everything associated with us had a poop aura to it. 

We got to the car and I pealed out of the school-zone driveway like Danika Patrick.  It was a getaway, though I can't say if it was clean or not.  I don't know how much of our poop-tasia adventure was evident to these folks.  I may be the equivalent of the kid who eats paste in the corner from now on in the parent sphere.  Sigh, I guess I could always home school...