Dear Fellow Elementary School Parents Who Attended This Evening’s “Spirit Night”,

YOU’RE WELCOME!  Yes, you have my family to thank for the unanticipated but surely welcomed closing of the “playroom” area tonight of the restaurant where our elementary school’s “Spirit Night” took place.

I should have known this was going to be a precarious evening. It had all of the trimmings of a typical day of disaster in my life.  Which occurs 5 out of the 7 days of the week.

1.  The Husband is in another state.  (Of note:  Sometimes, even if he is not with us, but the children know he is within a 5 mile radius, they will sense his chi and behave just knowing he could spontaneously show up.)

2.  I’d been running around since the 8:55 AM busstop shoo-off, my car was full of sand from the park, The Nosy Meap never took a nap, and I hadn’t eaten since 12:15 PM.  Translation: I was in a fairly pissy mood.

3.  Due to my overscheduling, The Eldest had choir practice simultaneously with The Middle’s lacrosse practice, which I happened to be “coaching” (translation:  preventing 6 year old boys from beating each other with lacrosse sticks), which pushed us way passed our bedtime and had us arriving at the “Spirit Night” restaurant at….wait for it…7:15 PM.  (This is usually when showertime occurs in our home.)



After I spent $26.57 for fastfood (the boys have outappetized kid’s meals), and watched my children shovel bites of fried chicken parts down their gullets, before sprinting into the overflowing “playroom” to act like Tanzanian chimpanzees on a hostile takeover of a rival troupe, I decide to go chit-chat on the other side of the restaurant with my friends.  (Of note:  The Nosy Meap had no business being in the “playroom”, you know the one designed for 3 year olds, therefore, I had her in a half-nelson on my hip trying to constrain her from breaking free and joining in on the mayhem.)

During my trivial banter discussing the fact that aforementioned child continued to refuse to use the potty,which is one of my biggest parental failures of note, my ears started to twitch. I heard a low grumble, as my motherly intuition picked up the pitch a voice that shares my DNA.  And shout-down-the-lane began as The Town Crier (The Eldest) declares to the entire restaurant, “MY BROTHER JUST THREW UP ON THE PLAYGROUND”.  Thinking The Middle has projectile vomited and was withering on the crusty floor of the “playroom” in despair, I tossed my daughter to my friend, Natalie, and sprinted across the restaurant, only to find my son wrestling with a fellow wild boy friend with not a care in the world.  “Did you throw up?” asked Concerned Mother.  “Huh?  I burped and the chicken I didn’t swallow in my mouth came out”, said Middle Child as he continued to play, laugh and be crazy.  Hmph.

Yet, I hear this voice booming and echoing throughout the restaurant, “MY BROTHER THREW UP! MY BROTHER THREW UP!”  Ah, family loyalty at it’s best.  Literally, My Sweet, Sensitive Eldest Boy was telling everyone in the restaurant that his brother threw up as if it gave him instant street cred.  For real.  Children started to swarm around him as if he was Savonarola decrying Florentinian artwork.  I wanted to thwap him on the head.

As you can imagine, this evening continued into its spiraling plunge.  The Middle’s extraordinarily curious Kindergarten friends started to hear that he threw up and next thing  you know, Management has shut down the playground and children are seeking him out to confirm such a …newsworthy event.  I am accosted by kids, parents, Management!  Translation: time to go, little family. Time.To.Go.

Therefore, I think it’s time to thank me that you had to endure just an abbreviated evening of headaches.  Most of you looked excited when the “Playroom Closed For Cleaning” sign popped up. You had your excuse to flee and be  in the comfort of your own homes…

Love ‘N Stuff,

The Concerned Mother Enjoying an Tasty Glass of Van Duzzer


2 thoughts on “Dear Fellow Elementary School Parents Who Attended This Evening’s “Spirit Night”,

  1. This forcefully brings back a heretofore blocked out memory of my eldest (now an almost-7th grader) peeing in her pants at the Chick-Fil-A here in sunny FLA and, worse, that when she informed me that her drenched purple Wiggles panties were lying in a moist heap in the uppermost recesses of the chicken play area…..I fled the scene. Whew, this comments area is like a confessional. Feeling better already.

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