January 8, 2011

Oreo & Adoption

Oreo is the class pet for James' preschool class.  The teachers send Oreo home with one lucky student each week.  This week, James was the lucky ducky.  Or, perhaps I should say I was the lucky ducky. Because with Oreo, comes a journal to fill out to share with the class all the adventures that our family experienced with Oreo over the weekend.

Oreo.  Did I mention that this pet is a stuffed panda bear?  A journal.  Adventures.

And not only did the homework assignment include the prior entries from about eight overzealous mothers and their children's hugely adventureous adventures with Oreo, but said journal entries also included photos.  Which means that I have to make a trip to CVS or some other place to print photos of our non-adventures with the stuffed animal. 

I don't get it.  Maybe some of my readers who are teachers can help me out with this.  Why in the hell do you send home homework for the parents?  WHY? WHY? WHY?  I suspect to promote parent-child interaction.  But please - I interact with the kids every single second I am home.   And because I work and I am a thirty-one years old, I believe I have earned the right to spend time with my kids exactly how I see fit.  I shouldn't be dashing to photo labs for you.

Now, I think Oreo is cute.  Nice idea. I get it.  James is proud to be taking care of Oreo over the weekend. And Stella likes him too.  It's a great little project.  But why do these teachers have to create more weekend work for the already worn out?   Stop with the projects.  I have over thirteen years of homework/projects/duties ahead of me once they are in "real" school.  Enough with the preschool projects.  Enough.

Today, the Expert and I took the kids to a buffet to eat lunch.  I loathe buffets.  Almost as much as I loathe the idea of a minivan.  But good lawd, buffets are the best way to feed kids.  What?  Stella doesn't like the chicken?  I just pick up my shiny, clean plate and get something else.  It works.  The Expert and I can load up on salads and fruit, and the kids are happy.   Correction: most kids would be happy.  Okay, so that's not accurate.  The kids were happy.  But the kids were also crazy.  All over the place.  Hyper.  Feeding off each other's energy.  And (get this) there was a birthday party in the next room.  [I won't point out the obvious weirdom of having a child's birthday party at the Golden Corral.]  So the kids were crazy with the energy of the buffet traffic, the birthday party next door, and a full view of the dessert bar.

We left the feeding trough, and decided to do the grocery shopping near our old stomping grounds in Duluth.   There is a Kroger near the Sugarloaf Country Club which usually has fabulous organic food.  Whole Foods was just too far to go today.  Again at Kroger, the kids were wild.  They wanted the kiddie car shopping carts, but then James wanted Oreo to ride in the back, then the front, then nowhere.  Stella cried.  Who knows why.  By the time we hit the checkout, the Expert said he was taking the kids to the car while I checked out.

Bad move.

James and Stella were ticked.  They wanted to stay in the store. James screamed at the top of his lungs until he was out of ear range in the parking lot. 

A little girl, about seven, ahead of me in the checkout line, looked at me and asked, "Are those your children?"
"That depends," I said.  And her mother laughed.

I moved through the checkout line.  The cashier asked, "Were those your children crying?"

"Yup, that's them.  But they won't be my kids for long," I said.

Confused, she asked, "Oh. Really?"

"Yeah," I said, "We just put them up for adoption."

Her eyes grew big. "Oh. Oh, okay."

I laughed. "I'm just kidding."

She laughed, "Oh that's good. You had me going."

"But it's not like that thought hasn't crossed my mind," I added.

She glares at me.

I sigh and say, "I'm kidding." (I wasn't).

Haaaaa!  Kids are a mess.  A mess, I tell you.  Now, Stella is napping.  James is reading with Oreo.  I am getting ready to head to the Y for my first swim workout in a while when the Expert returns from his bike ride.  Another super exciting day in the life of parenting. I can't wait to see what tomorrow holds!  Ooooooh!

Happy weekending!



Amanda said...

I have spent the better part of my morning reading your blog. Not working. Just reading your blog. I'll pay for this later, but what the heck. Your exchange with the cashier made me laugh until I cried because I have already lived that moment with Zachary. Sarcasm (with dashes of honesty) is my only method of communicating. And anyone that does not get it.....beware. Btw, I'm also in love with the stinky feet posting becaue I'm living that today!

Mere said...

I spent the better parts of my days WRITING blogs, and therefore, I spend the better parts of midnight to 3:00am working.. I understand :)

I miss you. I can't believe we have kids. When did THAT happen???