As if we parents don’t have enough to think about on a daily basis, it is “Family Safety – Red Ribbon Week” at the elementary school, the purpose of which is to educate students and their families about how they can keep themselves safe. Well, isn’t that nice?! And to make it super fun for the kids, the school is asking that the kids wear or bring something special every day this week! Wheeee!   

You know what? In theory – great idea. I’m all for keeping kids and families safe. Good on ya, school. However, in practice… this is a lot of extra work for a mom like me. My plate is already overflowing… and one more drop of bullshit casserole is going to make the whole damn paper plate spill all over my ill-fitting Mom-Jeans. I swear. I am a woman on the verge, ya’ll.  

Think I’m exaggerating? Here’s a rundown of the super fun extras I am (was) supposed to do this week:

Monday: Internet Safety Day – Surfing the Internet Safely!
Students are asked to wear their tropical Hawaiian shirt today.  
Oh, suck it.  We don’t have tropical shirts and I am certainly not buying two now for you people.  

Tuesday: Red Ribbon Day – Say No to Drugs.  
Students are asked to wear RED today.  
Ooops.  Missed that one. Too bad… because I might have actually been able to do this with minimal effort. We have some red clothes somewhere around here, and also a large assortment of pink socks and underwear that accidentally get washed with the red stuff on a semi-regular basis.  Oh well. 

Wednesday: Bicycle Safety Day – You’re Bright and You Ride Right!  
This day will feature students wearing their Brightest Colored shirt to signify their “bright” ideas about bike riding safety. Dammit. I missed this one too.     

Thursday: Fire Saftey Day – Only YOU can Prevent Fires!  
Students may bring a STUFFED BEAR today!
Uh-oh. 
Wait. It reads, “Students may bring…” That means it’s totally optional, right? Eh, nooooo.  
In my house, from now on, we’ll be calling this one – “Scar Your Child for Life Day!” 

Friday: Stranger Danger Day – Wear strange socks to help you remember to always follow your rules for Stanger Danger.  
Oooooo-kay. If you say so. But I’m thinking these poor little children will be so busy looking at their feet that strangers will be able to slowly drive right up and duct tape these downward-gazing children into the backs of their vehicles with no resistance whatsoever. Great – sounds like a winner. I definitely want my kids to associate pedophiles with wacky footwear.

I really just have one thing to say to school administrators about this program: “ARGHHHHHHHH!” If keeping kids safe is so fucking important to you, I suggest that you NOT stress out the parents with this kind of crap. Seriously. How safe do you think it is in my house this week with Mommy having to do all this extra shit when I’m already overwhelmed with Halloween costumes and cookies and parties and pumpkins? Seriously. It is a war-zone here right now. Don’t ask me to find matching strange socks and remember to place them on my kids on a specific day. Please. I beg of you. Wanna keep my kids safe? Quit adding to my never ending “to-do” list with menial tasks.  

As fierce as that may sound, I have not yet actually been brave enough to contact someone at the school and bitch about this stuff for fear that I am the only person who feels this way and that my lunacy will be taken out on my children. So I try to keep up with the constant stream of special requests to the best of my ability and pretend that I am not drowning in a sea of PTA induced clutter. I even have some systems in place for managing the constant influx of information. I placed the notice for this particular super fun week long hassle on the inside of my front door with a magnet, intending to remind myself each day what special item to dress my kid in or pack in their bag. Not a bad plan. At least it wasn’t buried under a pile of school papers somewhere on a spaghetti-sauce-dripping-kitchen-counter. But you know what happened? The flier got covered with a Cub Scout Popcorn Sale Order Form and I just plum forgot (although I did have a stellar week of popcorn sales, thank you very much).  

Yep, I forgot all about this stupid Red-Ribbon Safety CRAP until today, Thursday, when I got to see with my own two eyes how painfully neglected my poor children are.  Yes, I went into my kindergartener’s class this morning to volunteer and witnessed first hand how painful it is to be my child.  Poor Klepto was the ONLY KID in her class without a stuffed bear for Fire Safety Day.  OH THE SHAME!  

I was just sitting there, minding my own beeswax, cutting out construction paper rectangles and quietly gluing them onto bigger pieces of paper when the teacher announced that it was “time to get our bears and come sit on the rug for story time!” Uh-oh. This is gonna get ugly.  

“Look busy,” I told myself, head down, scissors frantically snipping away at those rectangles. Maybe she’ll just head over to the rug and sweetly ask another child if she can share with them. Nope. No such luck. Suddenly I heard Klepto shriek at another child: “STOP IT! LEAVE ME ALONE!” One of her friends was apparently asking her where her bear was. Confronted, like a wild animal in a corner, Klepto lost it. First the scream of frustration, then I could see the lower lip start to quiver, then the tears spilled forth and she tucked her head into her arms on her table. Within seconds she was literally racked with sobs. All the other kids were sitting criss-cross-applesauce on the carpet with their cute little stuffed bears in their laps, and Klepto was totally isolated at her table, body convulsing with sadness for being the only child without a bear… the only child with such an obvious loser of a mama who could not even manage to pack one, just one, of the three gazillion stuffed animals that are cluttering up the house. 

And there I sat, quietly cutting and gluing, feeling a lump slowly rising in my throat, thinking, “Damn. I suck.” 

There is nothing like disappointing and bringing shame to your child in such a public forum. My heart broke for that girl. 

Luckily, Klepto has the most amazing teacher who just so happened to have an extra stuffy on hand and was able to eventually persuade my child to pull it together and accept the substitute bunny. It was not an easy sell. And yes, I do suspect that part of the theatrics from Klepto was for my benefit: “Take THAT Mom! Can I have some candy and watch Hannah Montana NOW?” But even if I had not been there, she still would have felt that shame and embarrassment of being the only child without a teddy bear.  

In the heat of the moment, witnessing my child lose her shit over my inability to send in a random object, I was unable to feel anything but mortified.  I promptly finished my volunteer duties, averting eye contact with the other moms, and snuck out of the room after quickly kissing my red-faced, tear-stained daughter goodbye. Then I went to my car and cried. I cried long and hard. It sucks to feel like even your best just isn’t good enough, like you can’t keep all twelve balls in the air…eleven, maybe…but not twelve. It especially hurts when your negligence causes such emotional distress in one of your own. It is my job to love and nurture her, not cause so much heartache.  

But wait just a mother-fucking minute, people.  I was THERE. Volunteering. Cutting rectangles! Taking pictures for the school yearbook. I made her Halloween costume this week. She had clean underpants on every day this week. She ate multiple servings of fruits and vegetables every day and I read to her for 20 minutes every night. I brushed and flossed her and supervised her fluoride rinsing and kissed her goodnight… every night. I am a good mother and I will be DAMNED if I am going to let this unwelcome serving of bullshit casserole make me feel otherwise. Fucking school. Look out, my caffeine just kicked in and someone is going to have hell to pay.  

But wait, it gets even better. Last night, I asked the kids what they learned about Fire Safety yesterday. “Nothing.” Really? Well what about bicycle safety, Internet safety, saying NO to drugs? “Nope. Nothing.” Hmmm. It turns out that Nature Boy was also one of the only kids in his third grade class without a teddy bear yesterday, and the teacher did an academic lesson involving measuring said bears, and since Nature Boy didn’t have one, he couldn’t participate. WHAT?! Oh, no. You mean to tell me that my kids are being made to feel isolated and bad and miss out on academic instruction because their mother didn’t send in a teddy bear for an optional program about safety topics that aren’t even being taught? Excuse me, I have a phone call to make. 

It’s funny.  There were two other moms there with me for the volunteer shift, cutting and pasting and making small talk. Before the “I don’t have a teddy bear!” incident, we chatted about how times have changed, reminiscing that when we were in Kindergarten so many years ago, it was only a half-day program, with time for a nap everyday.  We didn’t have such complicated curricula.  We learned our letters and numbers and colors and shapes and Moms were allowed to bake homemade treats to send in for “Halloween Parties”…not “Autumn Centers.” And none of us remembered our mothers sitting in the back of the room each week cutting out rectangles. Both of these moms volunteer one morning twice a month, and both seemed embarrassed that it wasn’t enough. What is going on here? Why isn’t anything we do ever enough? Something is very wrong here. And you wonder why so many mommies drink.   

Well, on that note, I suppose I better quit writing and start baking. We’ve got pumpkins to carve and pumpkin shaped cookies to decorate.  And I have a new big ol’ box of wine callin’ my name. 

And just so you know, I did dig up some crazy socks today so my kids wouldn’t be ostracized or kicked out of class for being disruptive with their non-conformist ways. And I instructed my son to wear one of his crazy socks like this: 

Take THAT, fucking school. Now quit stressing me out and teach my kids some math for Chrissakes. 

© 2008 The Bearded Iris

There are some things in life that you just have to learn the hard way.  Never put something in an email that you wouldn’t want your boss to see; never joke around with a TSA agent; and never park in a handicap space unless you have a handicap placard or a lot of money to burn.  (And by the way, even if you walk with a limp, are 10 months pregnant, or just pretend to be retarded, you must still have the handicap placard or you will get a ticket and it is a doozy…trust me on this one).  

Well, I have a new one to add to this list…

Never go to a PTA sponsored Open House higher than a kite on illegally obtained prescription speed.  

It started innocently enough.  I had survived an incredibly long and difficult summer at home with my kids, unaided by the anti-depressants that had saved my life several years ago.  Fearing that my depression had returned, I confided in a friend that I was going to see my psychiatrist and get back on the happy pills. Much to my surprise, she asked “Oh, is it for your ADD?”  What?!  ”No, I don’t have ADD, just clinical depression,” I retorted and then tried to remember what we were talking about and where my checkbook was.  That is when she diagnosed me.  She took one look at the piles around my house and the fact that I never seem to complete a task and referred me to a checklist in a book about Women with AD/HD.  It was startling.  We immediately concluded that yessireebob, I must indeed be one of the millions of women in this country with undiagnosed ADD (attention deficit disorder).  Why none of the doctors or loved ones or teachers in my life never realized this before is no surprise…my symptoms have always been disguised by the more obvious depression symptoms.  Plus, there is this stereotype of ADD out there that looks like a noisy nine year old boy bouncing off the walls.  I’m not noisy.  I’m not a boy.  I’m not hyperactive.  Turns out depression and ADD can coexist, and in women, it is very common.  Well no shit….being surrounded by piles of things that you need to do but don’t know where to start and being viewed by your husband and friends and family as incompetent because you are never accomplishing things and your house looks like a hurricane blew through it can make anyone feel depressed.  Be right back…I just saw something shiny.  

So anyhoo, my friend, who also has ADD and says it takes one to know one, told me that if you have it and you take ADD medication, it lifts the fog and will confirm that you have ADD.  If you don’t have ADD and take this medication, it will just feel like you drank several Venti Starbucks Espressos and it will not be fun. So she slipped me a few of her Vyvanse one day while we covertly rendezvoused in the underwear aisle at Target.  And I took one the next day with my breakfast.  Lest you judge my friend, she did ask me first about my blood pressure and heart history.  And then she broke the law to help a friend in need.  I love this girl.  She is the bombdiggity, yo.  

Cut to the chase, about an hour later I was magically transformed into Wonder Woman, flying through my house in my invisible plane.  The fog was gone and I was magically productive.  I was kinder to my children. I was a better wife to my husband, calling him just to ask about his day.  But I was also suddenly filled with an undeniable rage.  OH MY GOD.  Is this what other people feel like everyday?  If I had had this medication in school could I have been more than an average student?  Could I have become a doctor or engineer or broadway star?  Could I have survived or even thrived in various jobs for more than two years at a time?  It was maddening.  But the rage was balanced by hope.  Hope that I am only 38 years old and that it is not too late for my second act to be a show-stopper.  For the most part, that was a very good day.  

But there is a downside.  This drug wears off.  It only lasts for about 12 hours, so the first day, when I took it with my breakfast, it wore off as I was cooking dinner and I was a fucking mess.  Every little sound bothered me, every smell.  The lights were suddenly too bright.  I had a headache and was nauseated.  I called my friend for a med-check. “Is this normal?” I asked.  ” Yes. You get used to it though. Take it a little later tomorrow so it will last through the kids’ bedtimes.” 

The next day, I took the Vyvanse at 10:30 AM.  This was a mistake.  I had another fabulous day, of course. I even went to the gym and had the best workout of my life.  Completed all the weight stations and increased my weights and reps at each one.  I think I even lifted a car off a toddler in the parking lot on my way out, but I was in such a hurry to get home and complete some tasks that I didn’t stick around to check for vitals.

This was also the day of the infamous PTA sponsored Open House.  You know, the day you take the kids to meet their teachers and see their classrooms.  One of the other side effects of this drug is that it really boosts your confidence.  I felt capable.  I felt pretty.  I felt less socially stunted than usual.  I dressed slightly inappropriately.  Just slightly.  And I worked that Open House like nobody’s business.  Every parent I recognized was my long lost best friend!  ”How was your summer?!!!!!!  We’ve got to get the kids together for a play date!  Call me!!!!”  But the worst part was when it came time to volunteer.  I was like Marsha Brady on the first day of high school.  Bake sale committee?  Sure!  Fall festival?  You bet!  Yearbook?  I can do that! Room Mom?  YESYESYESYESYESYES.  Oh for the love of GOD.  I am now a Room Mom.  This is something that I never would have agreed to if I was not under the influence of narcotics.  Now I am totally screwed.

So in addition to the all the other negative consequences of attending a PTA function on drugs, I also discovered that taking Vyvanse too late in the day guarantees a sleepless night.  I was up until 5:00 AM the next day and was one tired, cranky Mommy for several days after that.  On the plus side, that was the night I created this blog and if I do say so myself, my writing, creativity, motivation, and focus have never been better than they were that very first night (see Hello world!).  

My friend was correct in her diagnosis, by the way. When I saw my psychiatrist the next week and discussed my symptoms, had me take a test which revealed in no uncertain terms that I definitely do suffer from ADD and clinical depression.  Woo-hoo!  I’m officially one taco short of a combo platter.  We’re going to treat the depression first and then maybe add in a very small dose of Vyvanse to manage the ADD.  What a relief to know that there is hope for me yet.  In the meantime, I’m really looking forward to boarding that invisible plane again and flying into the role of Kindergarten Room Mom.  Let’s just hope they don’t make me do a drug screen first.