On His Second Day

My son.  He's going to a politician.  This is not a compliment.

This year, Mr. OCD and I decided to send our children to the elementary school in our neighborhood.  Last year, my son went to the elementary school near the high school where I work because, well...it's convenient.  However, this summer when he was aggravating the shit out of me, it became apparent that he needed to find some friends.  We live in a typical middle-class neighborhood with lots of children his age.  Lots of potential friends.  More importantly, lots of potential friends' houses where he can potentially play rather be up my rear end.  A little less convenient, but a lot more beneficial.

Today was my son's second day at his new school.  The SECOND!  Bear with me as I count.  1...2...!

And on day 2, he found himself in the principal's office.  I'm a teacher!  hel-LO???  Who gets sent to the principal's office on the 2nd day of school?

My damn kid, that's who.  He apparently hit a girl in the cafeteria because she was screaming at him.  WTF??!!!

Oh, that's not the worst of it.  No!

When I picked him up from school today, he proceeded to go into great detail about how wonderful his day went.  With much enthusiasm, he indicated that he got an A+++ for the day.  He was so good, and he was well on his way to having a sleep over on Friday night.  Wooo Whoooo!  High Five, Mama!  I'm on a roll!

Initially, I believed him.  I had no reason not to believe him.  Until he made the mistake of saying, "The principal said I was being so good."


Uh-oh!  My Fibanator honed in on those words.  Poor boy; he's only six.  He' doesn't yet realize that his Mama can sniff out a lie like no one else.  Before he runs for public office, he really needs to master the fine art of fabricating the truth.  

Really?!?!  So the principal said you were good today, huh?  You mean to tell me that Mrs. F sent you to the principal's office because you were good?

Oh, it gets better.  "Yea, Mama.  And ya know what?  My principal said he's going to be at my baseball game tonight, but he you can't talk to him."  Like my husband, the principal is a dad/coach for his son's tee ball team in the same league.

Now, E.  Why would I not talk to him after you had such a great day???  I need to tell him how proud I am of you.  I can't wait to see him tonight!  It's then that I begin to recognize the panic in his eyes.  I know it's mean to play with his emotions, but I just can't help myself.

His tone becomes more serious.  And desperate.  "Mama, you still sound so sick.  You probably don't need to go to my ball game tonight.  You should just stay home and rest."

Coincidentally, that statement reminded me that I needed to call my doctor back about my prescription.  When I dialed the number, E's eyes got as big as saucers and he began to gag like he would puke.  "Who are you calling, Mama???  WHO?!?!  Mama, who is that?!?!?!"  He was in a full-blown panic attack by the time the doctor's office answered the phone.

As soon as I finished talking to the nurse, I turned to him and stared.  He crumbled.  The jig was up; he was busted.

"Okay, here's the truth..."

He proceeded to tell me that he received a straight face in class that day.  He got in trouble for yelling.  Apparently, something didn't go his way and he had a meltdown.  A trait he inherited from Mr. OCD who is also known as Mr. Temper Tantrum.

Then he explained that he had to go to the principal's office during lunch for hitting a girl.  "But she was screaming at me for no reason, Mama."  I seriously wanted to kill him.

My kid.  A teacher's kid.  Acting like a juvenile delinquent.  The next twelve years will probably be the longest of my life.