Friday, September 18, 2009

Oh GOD! (faking it at preschool) Part 1

Recently Jules has been a victim of poor judgment, my own proclivities towards atheism and plain old desperation. The morning after we arrived home from our trip up to Washington state, I was struck down by epiphany: I have got to graduate college. I felt a great sense of determination welling up inside. The only problem was that the fall semester was starting in less than a week and a half.
No problem. I had already been accepted and financial aid was all lined up. But over the last few years, college seemed to be , as Langston Hughes said, "the dream deferred" for so long I had dismissed the idea due to small obstacles for yet another semester. But that morning, I thought,"To hell obstacles, I'm going to do it!"
Daily trips were made to the campus, but not before making brief stops to random daycares en route. Quite a few were filthy, some were just too big and the kids seemed like zombies. By the time First day came around, I was strapped for time and needed a place stat. Finally I fell on a little school and it seemed to be right.It wasn't religious and had a big playground. I thought it would work perfectly. Oh how I was wrong.
The first week went fine, no problems were to be had. I was in school, the kids were in school, everything was great! On Friday, the owner of the school came up to me and said that Julian had poked a kid when in line for recess but didn't think it would be a problem. I didn't think much of it and we talked a bit that night.
"Mom, I don't like my teacher. Can you kill her?" Jules said casually.
Walter tango foxtrot?
"Honey, we don't kill people! We love people and are nice to them always. What's going on?" I asked.
"Oh nothing." He said. I really didn't know what to think of his little remark. Panic wasn't the answer. Maybe turning off Family Guy when he walks in might help. More sleep, better food and less sugar were all options I considered.
When Monday rolled around, I went to drop him off like usual. But instead of him grudgingly letting go, he screamed and cried when I left. His teacher said it was "just a show for mama" and not to worry about it. Less that ten minutes later, I received a call from the owner. "Rose, you need to come pick your child up. He is kicking and screaming and being completely non responsive. I don't know what to do."
Needless to say, I made a 180 and went to pick him up. When I got to the school he was still crying and the teacher told me that my little angel had hit her and scratched her. I couldn't believe it! They told me that I needed to take him home and punish him and if he changed his attitude, he could come back for the remainder of the day. From what they had told me, Jules was unruly and completely evil and needed a better home structure. I wanted to grab the owner by her jowls and send her flying through the door. But I was desperate. So I took my beastly little angel home to work it out. We talked-well I talked. He was wild and not listening to a word I was saying. He was angry. He was kicking. He was not my child.
Finally I calmed him down and took him back to the school just in time to catch my class. His teacher didn't like him already and wouldn't allow him into her class until he apologized and told her how wrong he was. I swallowed hard and took it. Oh Jules, I though, what's wrong with you?
I went to my class, within the depths of a building in no cell phone land. 75 minutes later, I checked my phone to see that I had received three phone calls from the owner of the school. "Rose, we can't have your son here, he is unruly and violent."
Arriving at the school, I found Jules in a storage room screaming and crying. I held him, feeling so sorry for his little psyche. I held his little weak body in my arms while I talked to the owner and her eventually went to sleep. "Your son is unresponsive and a liability in our classrooms. He hit me! He scratched! He hissed!I think that this is a direct product of a dysfunctional home life. He scratched me! Like this!" The owner, with a six month old baby tucked under one arm reached out and began to hiss and scratch me.I was mortified by this attack. Her arm skin jiggled with each vicious swipe. This is one messed up old broad, I thought. Not that it was really hurting, but holy shit! I was being scratched by a lady with an infant in her arms! Seeing this side of this woman made my wonder if her own children had ever been on Jerry Springer.
Did I have a bad home? Was I going to tell and corrupting my children? I called my husband in hysterics (I'm not too proud to tell the truth) telling him the horrible ordeal and I didn't know what the hell to do. I had to figure out what was going on, find a different daycare or a shrink for my little manimal. The little obstacles that prevented me from getting into college before were nothing like this.

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