PTA: WTF

Yesterday at the gym I came upon four women seated neatly in the "lounge" area of the daycare. They looked nice enough. Khaki pants up to their armpits. Mom-dos. Four thousand pounds of crap at their ankles. Typical garden-variety "lounge-mamas."

So, typically I listened in on their conversation-- Slowly unpacking Archer's red blankie from my diaper bag and stowing it away in the cubbie hole. Sloooooowly passing Archer to Harriet, our favorite daycare-lady. Slooooowly making my way to the door so I could eavesdrop properly.

And this is what I heard:

"WELL, That's fine and everything but the PTA at Primrose's school has a PTA of thirty-three and they're all lovely ladies. I've met four of them so far."

"Thirty-three? HA! My son Pinkerton's PTA has forty-four members and it's really so great because some are black and some are white and some are Mexican and its just a really fabulous smorgesbord* of folk!"

"Well I don't see the need for a PTA when your child is in private school and .... pstpstpst-whisperwhisper-pst. "

I didn't catch the rest. Maybe they noticed that it was taking me an insane amount of time to unload a magazine and my IPOD.

So I walked out.

An hour later I came back to find the Mommy-Posse still seated neatly on the couch. And I KID YOU NOT, they were STILL talking about the fucking PTA.

"I think I'll wait until Mozart is a little older before I run for PTA office. I want to REALLY be involved when it counts."

"I ran for PTA Secretary and lost. It was horrible."

"Awwwww."

"Awwwwwww."

"Awwwww."

Maybe I'm just the mother of a toddler and don't get the whole PTA-Parent situation. Maybe I'm being a bitch or a snob or a snarky-snark-snark but these women made me want to vomit into one or more of the Dixie cups on display.

Because ONE HOUR, ladies. ONE HOUR! About the PTA!

And you know what? I bet they're still talking. In the lounge of something else. In lounges around the world with their "my child was student of the month at Get-Over-Yourself Elementary" bumper-stickers.

Other People's Parents, man. Giving parenthood (and the PTA) a bad name. All. Over. Town.

GGC

*one of my top three favorite words. (Others include Doppelganger and Heliotrope.)

1 & 1/2

Archer turned eighteen-months on Thanksgiving and although I realize that 1/2 is only 1/2 as meaningful as a 1/whole, I have a soft spot for half-birthdays as it doesn't feel like so long ago that I introduced myself in halves and three quarters and thirds.

"How old are you?"
"I'm ten and a half. How old are you?"
"Eight and three quarters."

And as children we understood perfectly.

And as adults, or shall I say, parents, we still do:

"How old is your child?"
"Sixteen weeks" or "Seventeen months" or "forty-seven months..." (which is when I have to do the math on my fingers.)

Before I had a child I was always annoyed with the parents who rattled off their children's ages in months like I was supposed to know the difference between thirteen months and twenty-six months and thirty-three months and so on. Why couldn't she just say my kid is three and three quarters?" I always found it to be some strange parent-language but now that I have a child, I get it. I do.

Because when you have a baby, ever day counts. Ever week matters. Every month is a revelation, a collection of milestones so vast, it is easy to forget that they have even happened.

Archer, now eighteen months, has suddenly over the course of several weeks,turned into a little boy. And sometimes when I look at him, my heart melts. I fall between the floor cracks in gooey strands. Those eyes. That little belly-laugh. Those ever-cold hands and toes like chubby berries. Can I eat them? Delicious!


Today I was describing Archer to an old friend on the phone and I got teary-eyed trying to explain the emotion I felt looking at this photo.

How in the hell could something so perfect come from me? How is it possible that this tiny beam of light didn't used to exist?

And I felt suddenly blindsided by love. Bumping into everything and skipping down the sidewalk and over-tipping the hostess who isn't even allowed to accept tips in love.

And so I went to him, asleep in his crib, with his legs tucked up under his chest and I just stood there like a fool, staring with mouth agape, shaking my head like, "who are you?"

Seriously. Who are you?


Who is this little boy walking across the street, in the cold, with his hands outstretched for balance. How is that he can be walking toward me, with his little shadow tripping beside him? He wants ME to pick him up. He wants ME to love him and hold him and pick the boogers from his nose. He wants ME to fall asleep on in the shower, with water in our faces and rubber duckies on our heads. Me. ME? But I'm just me.

But to him I'm me x infinity. Super-me. Like my mother was to me and hers to her and so on.

And sometimes I watch him for clues. For expressions that look like mine, dirty looks, cockeyed glances, crooked smiles.

When I saw this photo I thought. "Yup, he's mine."



The posed look I always have in photographs, and his face making the same expression. I laughed. And then I cried because it's hard to believe he is my baby sometimes.

There are times when I don't believe it and I seriously think Archer can't be mine, that he has somehow come from a distant planet and is some kind of alien messiah sent for the greater good of earth. (It makes more sense in my head. I swear.)


Then of course there are the days when parenthood is like trying to rescue bees from a swimming pool (knowing right well you'll probably get stung) but that's for another day.

Parenthood. Bees. Little boys with great big eyes who walk on two feet and fall down and laugh and scream and wipe their eyes when they're sleepy and lie down on their blankies in the middle of the cement and play peek-a-boo.

A half birthday may not be much, but to me, the mother of a 1.5 year old, a half birthday is huge. Eighteen months. So fast.

One day I won't count months anymore. Soon it will be years. Something I can't even begin to imagine. But even as the months fly by and the weeks and the days practically disintegrate, I am grateful. And thankful. And in love. More in love than ever. Looking forward to tomorrow morning when I get to wake up to Archer's open-mouthed kiss on my cheek and fingernails clawing at my face like stingers. Always my little bumble bee.

GGC

GGC Rapz Presents: OPP

Apologies for ditching my "MCdom" for a few months but Yo GGC Rapz are back! (And a little angrier than usual.)

Here's a little rap for all my playground haters. Because unless it's just me, 93% of parents I meet are wack-jobs. (Word?)

For those of you sick & tired of the haters in the 'hood... This one's for you...



Othere People's Parents
(Who's Down with OPP? Hell no. Not me.)
Original O.P.P. By: Naughty By Nature

Army with harmony
GGC drop a load on 'em

OPP how can I explain them
I'll take you frame by frame then
To have y'all jumpin' shall we singin' it
O is for Other P is for People scratchin' temple
The last P...well...that's not that simple
Another way to call compet-i-moms on all their bullshit
Seven little letters equal one big 'ol conniption fit...

(Hit me with it, parents.)
(Yeah, yeah...)
(Let's put the parent in parenthesis.)
(Say, Word.)

..You ever had a Mom and met her on a nice hello
You get her name and number and then right before you have to go
She gets all crazy-bitch-ass and decides to call your shit
Because her kid has better manners and knows better than to hit.
Yo, why you gotta go there? Who said you knew what was best?
Just because you have your kid on every preschool waiting list?
Just because your kid is five years old, still drinkin' from your breast?

It's OPP, who think it's their place to defeat.
There's no room for relationship there's just room to compete!
How many parents out there know just what I'm gettin' at?
Who thinks it's wrong 'cos I'm splittin' and co-hittin' at?
Well if you do, that's OPP and you're not down with it.
But if you don't, here's your membership...


Chorus:
You down with OPP (Oh no,not me) 3X
Who's down with OPP (Not usually!)
You down with OPP (Pulease, spare me!) 3X
Who's down with GGC (All the homies!)


As for all the Diaper Dudes, OPP means something different
The first two letters are the same but the last is something
different.
The hypocrisy of parents who rebel against the mod
Then decorate the family van with flames like some hot rod

Have you ever known a Daddy who talks shit about your life?
Who has the nerve to say, "You should be more like my wife."
Who glares at your kid's paci and makes a snide remark like so:
"Binkies aren't for little boys and you need to tell him, no!"
Or who just because he's older thinks he has the nerve to say
"When I was your age" (dot dot dot)"Well, you see, back in MY day..."
And "My pediatrician this" and "My pediatrician that."
And "90 percentile for weight means your child is getting fat."
How much you wanna bet that he's the one with issues
His baby boy's on Zoloft and his daughter's eating tissues.

Who really cares if you're "Queen Bee" of your Mommy and me group?
PTA President and Soccer Coach and lead the Girlscout Troup
You'll talk shit when I turn my back and think you have me duped.
You're poodle perm and overalls (no offense) are so not cute.
You rock your Baby on Board sticker and think you rule the ring
You flaunt your Zales #1 Mom Pendent like its pure suburban bling.

This new mom tried to OPP me with her internet IQ
With her Child Magazine Q&A and "What kind of mom are you?"
She read it in a magazine that "stay at home is so much better."
And then she saw it on Dr. Phil that working Moms bring home more cheddar.
She said she was confused, but it was pretty clear to me
That she was just another lemming 'bout to fall into the sea.
I said, "Yo I gotta go. I don't like you. You're a jerk."
"If you want to "Mommy War" with me, I stay at home AND work."
The bitch was so confused she nearly fell back on her fanny.
And saved was she, by the grace of God (or in other words, her nanny.)

Chorus:
You down with OPP (Say no, oh please!) 3X
Who's down with OPP (Not you! Not me!)
You down with OPP (But seriously?) 3X
Who's down with...

GGC


Related: More Yo GGC Rapz:

• SAHPotage
  


• Applejuice


• Momma Needs a Girls Night Out. Huah!


• It's Hard Out There For a Wife


• I Like Clean Butts

(Word to the Mothaz and the Baby's Daddies.)