Authors: Melanie Gideon
Wife 22 (19 page)
“Can you do me a favor and pick Jude up from school today? This bloody deposition is running late,” says Nedra.
“Nedra—perfect timing. Remember you said that thing about not informing on kids to their parents when we went to
How to Keep Your Kids from Turning into Meth Addicts
night at school? That I should learn to keep my mouth shut?”
“It depends on the circumstances. Is it about sex?” says Nedra.
“Yes, I’ll pick up Jude and no, it’s not about sex.”
“STDs?”
“No.”
“General all-around sluttiness?”
“No.”
“Plagiarism?”
“No.”
“Drugs?”
“Yes.”
“Hard drugs?”
“Is pot classified as a hard drug?”
“What happened,” sighs Nedra. “Is it Zoe or Peter?”
“Neither—it’s a third-grader. She narced on her parents, and my question is should I narc on her narc back to her parents?”
Nedra pauses. “Well, my advice is still no, stay out of it. But trust your intuition, darling. You’ve got good instincts.”
Nedra’s wrong about that. My instincts are like my memory—they both started fizzling out after forty or so years.
Please go to voice mail, please go to voice mail, please go to voice mail
.
“Hello.”
“Oh, hi. Hiiiiii. Is this Mrs. Norman?”
“This is she.”
I ramble. “How are you? Hope I haven’t caught you at a bad time. Sounds like you’re in the car. Hope the traffic isn’t bad. But jeez, it’s always bad. This is the Bay Area after all. But a small price to pay for all this abundance, right?”
“Who is this?”
“Oh—sorry! This is Alice Buckle, Carisa’s drama teacher?”
“Yes.”
I’ve been teaching drama long enough to know when I’m talking to a mother who’s nursing a grudge over me casting her child as a goose in the third-grade play.
“Ah, well, it seems we have a situation.”
“Oh—is Carisa having a problem learning her lines?”
See?
“So listen. Carisa came into school quite upset today.”
“Uh-huh.”
The brusqueness of her voice throws me off. “You allow her to watch
CSI Miami
?” I ask.
Oh, God, Alice.
“Is that why you’re calling me? She has an older brother. I can’t possibly be expected to screen everything Carisa sees.”
“That’s not why I’m calling. Carisa brought in a baggie full of pot.
Your
pot.”
Silence. More silence. Did she hear what I said? Has she put me on mute? Is she crying?
“Mrs. Norman?”
“That’s simply out of the question. My daughter did not bring in a bag of pot.”
“Yes, well, I understand this is a delicate situation, but she did bring in a bag of pot because I’m holding it in my hands right now.”
“Impossible,” she says.
This is the grown woman’s version of putting her hands over her ears and humming so she doesn’t have to hear what you’re saying.
“Are you saying I’m lying?”
“I’m saying you must be mistaken.”
“You know, I’m doing you a favor. I could lose my job over this. I could have brought this to the principal. But I didn’t because of Carisa. And the fact that you might have some medical condition for which you have a medical marijuana card.”
“A medical condition?”
Doesn’t she understand I’m trying to give her an out?
“Yes—plenty of people use marijuana for medical reasons; it’s nothing to be embarrassed about. Minor things, like anxiety or depression.”
“I am neither anxious nor depressed, Ms. Buckle, and I appreciate your concern—but if you insist on continuing to harass me I’ll have to do something about it.”
Mrs. Norman hangs up.
After work I drive to McDonald’s and throw the baggie full of pot into the Dumpster behind the restaurant. Then I drive away like a fugitive, by which I mean obsessively looking into my rearview mirror and driving twenty miles an hour in a forty-mile-an-hour zone, praying there wasn’t a video camera in the McDonald’s parking lot. Why is everybody so rude? Why won’t we help each other? And when
was
the last time I felt truly cared for by my husband?
KED3 (Kentwood Elementary Third Grade Drama Parents’ Forum) Digest #129
Messages in this digest (5)
1. Was it fair of Alice Buckle to give the geese no lines?
Weigh in, people!
Posted by: Queenbeebeebee
2. RE: Was it fair of Alice Buckle to give the geese no lines?
Look, I know this will likely be an unpopular position, but I’m just going to come right out and say it. It’s not realistic to think that every kid in the play will have a line. It’s just not possible. Not with thirty kids in the class. Some years your kids will get lucky and get a good role. And some years they won’t. It all balances out in the end.
Posted by: Farmymommy
3. RE: Was it fair of Alice Buckle to give the geese no lines?
No! It’s not fair. And it doesn’t all balance out. Alice Buckle is a hypocrite! Do you think she ever cast her children as geese? I think not and I can prove it. I have all the school play programs dating back ten years. Her daughter Zoe was Mrs. Squash, Narrator #1, Lion Tamer with Arm in Cast and Lazy Bee. Her son Peter was Fractious Elf, Slightly Overweight Troll, Bovine Buffoon (everybody wanted that role) and Walnut. Alice Buckle has just gotten lazy. How hard can it be to make sure each child has at least one line? Perhaps Mrs. Buckle has been teaching drama for too long. Perhaps she should think of retiring.
Posted by: Helicopmama
4. RE: Was it fair of Alice Buckle to give the geese no lines?
I have to agree with Helicopmama. Something is very off with Mrs. Buckle. Shouldn’t she be
keeping track of each class? The plays they’ve done and the roles each kid has performed over the years? That way she could make sure everything was equitable. If your child had a one-line role last year, well, then this year they should have a lead. And if they have no lines—well, don’t even get me started. That is simply unacceptable. My daughter is heartbroken.
Heartbroken.
Posted by: Storminnormandy
5. RE: Was it fair of Alice Buckle to give the geese no lines?
May I make an observation? I’m pretty sure that how many lines your child has in his or her third-grade play will have no bearing on his future. Absolutely none. And if, in fact, I’m wrong, and it does, I would ask you this: consider the possibility that a small role might be a good thing. Perhaps those children who had only one-line roles (or perhaps, no lines at all) will end up with higher self-esteem. Why? Because they will have learned from an early age to deal with disappointment and to make the best of a situation and to not quit or throw a tantrum when something doesn’t go their way. There are plenty of things going on in this world right now that are worthy of being heartbroken over. The third-grade play is not one of them.
Posted by: Davidmametlurve182
54.
“Hi, Mama,” she shouted cheerfully, when we pulled up to the curb. It was nearly midnight, and William and I were picking her up from the last dance of the school year.
She stuck her head in my window and giggled. “Can we give Jew a ride home?”
“Who?” I said.
“Jew!”
“Jude,” interpreted William. “Goddammit, she’s wasted.”
William quickly rolled the car windows up, just seconds before she threw up on the passenger-seat door.
“Got your phone?” asked William.
We knew this moment would come, we had discussed our plan, and now we sprung into action. I bolted out of the car, my iPhone in hand, and started taking photos. I got some classic shots. Zoe, leaning against the car door, her fleur-de-lys crinoline splattered in vomit. Zoe, climbing into the backseat, shoeless, her sweaty hair stuck to the back of her neck. Zoe on the drive home, her head lolling on the seat; her mouth wide open. And the saddest one: her father carrying her into the house.
We had gotten this advice from friends. When she got wasted—and she
would
get wasted, it wasn’t a matter of
if
, but
when
—we should document the whole thing because she’d be too drunk to remember any of the details.
It may sound hard core but it worked. The next morning when we showed her the photos she was so horrified that, to the best of my knowledge, she hasn’t ever gotten drunk again.
55.
I had William all wrong. He wasn’t some blue-blood, entitled, silver-spoon, Ivy League elitist. Everything he had he’d worked his ass off for, including a full scholarship to Yale.
“Beer?” his father, Hal, said to me, holding the refrigerator door open.
“Would you like Bud Light, Bud Light, or Bud Light?” asked William.
“I’ll take a Bud Light,” I said.
“I like her,” said Hal. “The last one drank water. No ice.” Hal gave me a huge grin. “Helen. She didn’t stand a chance once you came into the picture, right, slim? You don’t mind if I call you slim?”
“Only if you called Helen that, too.”
“Helen was not slim. Zaftig, maybe.”
I was in love with Hal already.
“I see where William gets his charm.”
“William is lots of things,” said Hal. “Driven, ambitious, smart, arrogant, but charming he is not.”
“I’m working on that,” I said.
“What are you making for dinner?” asked Hal.
“Beef stroganoff,” said William, unpacking the bag of groceries we’d brought.
“My favorite,” said Hal. “I’m sorry Fiona couldn’t make it.”
“Don’t apologize for Mom. It’s not your fault,” said William.
“She wanted to come,” said Hal.
“Right,” said William.
William’s parents divorced when he was ten and his mother, Fiona, very quickly remarried a man with two other children. Hal and Fiona had a split custody agreement at first, but by the time William was twelve he was living with his dad full-time. William and Fiona weren’t close and he saw her infrequently, on holidays and special occasions. Another surprise. Both of us un-mothered.
56.
I saved you an egg.
57.
Don’t worry. I’ll take care of that.
John Yossarian
changed his profile picture
John Yossarian
changed his profile picture
So cute, Researcher 101! What’s her name?
I’m sorry but I can’t divulge that information.
Okay. Can you divulge what you like most about her?
Him. The way he touches his cold nose to my hand at six every morning. Just once. Then sits at attention by the side of the bed waiting patiently for me to wake.
So sweet—what else?
Well, right now he’s pushing his snout under my arm as I attempt to chat with yousdfsfd. Sorry. He gets jealous when I’m on the computer.
You’re very lucky. He sounds like a dream dog.
Oh, he is.
I do not have a dream dog. In fact, our dog is so ill behaved my husband wants to give him away.
It can’t be that bad.
He peed on my husband’s pillow. I’m afraid to have guests come over.
You should do some training.
Training is not the issue.
Of your husband.
Ha!
I’m not kidding. Loving an animal doesn’t come naturally to everybody. Some people have to be taught.
I don’t agree. You shouldn’t have to teach love.
Spoken by somebody to whom love comes easily.
What makes you say that, Researcher 101?
I can read between the lines.
The lines of my answers?
Yes.
Well, I’m not sure love comes easily, but I will say it is my default setting.
I’ve got to go. I’ll be emailing the next survey in a few days.
Wait—before you leave I wanted to ask you. Is everything okay? This is the first time you’ve been on Facebook in days.
Nothing’s wrong, just busy.
I was worried you might be angry.
This is what I hate about communicating online. There’s no way to judge tone.
So you’re not angry.
Why would I be angry?
I thought I might have offended you in some way.
By doing what?
Not answering your revised #48.
You’re allowed to take a pass on any question.
So I haven’t offended you?
You’ve done nothing to offend me—quite the opposite, actually—that’s the problem.