Whoever said that having kids keeps you young was either A) a moron or B) never had kids.
Those of us with more than two neurons to rub together know the truth -- having kids ages you. A lot. Before kids I had wrinkle-free skin, perky breasts, and no more than a handful of gray hairs.
Now I look like a saggy, over-ripe prune. Covered in gray mold.
I am probably exaggerating a bit. But seriously -- I am certain that the wrinkles, the sags, and the plentiful gray only emerged AFTER the kids were born. I am nothing if not a scientist, and I know that when 2 events share a temporal similarity there is a good chance that those events are related. So E=mc2 + the square root of something + ipso facto = my kids are accelerating my aging process.
Make sense?
Yeah.
So I dropped LG off at tap class on Tuesday and BB and I left her there to go run some errands. I called home to check messages and the first message was from the guidance counselor at LG's school.
"Um, Mrs Kish, I'm calling because we had a little 'incident' with LG".
Yes, with LG. The one I don't worry about. Gulp.
"Apparently she said something to another child in aftercare and the child told her parents. What LG said was concerning enough that the other parent requested a meeting with me."
"And the principal"
GULP.
"After hearing what LG said, we decided we needed to speak to her. Just to see if she was OK"
OMG!
"So I spoke to LG and, honestly, I think she's fine. But you need to know about this".
OMFG!!!!!
You guys -- you can't even IMAGINE the things going through my head at this point. I was in full-on freak mode. I was imagining all the horrible things that might have happened -- not that LG is every anywhere but home, at school, or out with us. But still. The imaginings.
Then I thought that maybe she told them that I bite her tushie. Now, I don't ACTUALLY bite her tushie. But I tell her I'm going to. And I come right at her like I'm going to. And then I just poke and tickle her tushie. Because it's so cute. And she's SIX. Barely. And I'm her mother. And it makes her laugh.
These are the thoughts going through my mind at 4:45 p.m., the evening before the kids have 5 days off for Thanksgiving. There's no way to call the guidance counselor until Monday. After-care is open until 6, so I called over there and babbled incoherently to the girl who answered the phone. She didn't know any of the details of the incident, only that there was one. And it was Big and Important. She told me she'd try to find out more and get back to me.
She called back about 15-minutes later and said all she knew was that LG said something inappropriate to another child. The director had the details, but she had already left to catch a flight.
Shit.
Fast-forward another 15 or so minutes and the phone rings again. It's the Director, calling from some airport in the Midwest. She sounds Serious and Concerned.
So there I am in Starbucks (because every crisis demands a latte). BB is with me (and probably just thankful he's not the one in trouble). I get out of line and sit down in a quiet-ish corner to talk. She tells me what LG said.
I gasp. Loudly. Followed by a few Oh My Gods.
From the Director: "LG was talking to her friends about eating penises"
I'm not sure I've yet recovered from the 15 or so seconds that followed hearing that statement. I was sickened and panicked.
And then I started laughing. With relief. Because I realized exactly what was said.
The Director. That poor woman. She was so concerned and loving. So much so that she took the time to call me from an airport during her vacation. She delivered news that had the potential to be very, very serious. She gets a gasp, some barely-concealed panic, 15-seconds of stunned silence, and then inappropriate laughter.
I hope someone gives her a raise.
OK -- so here's what happened: you know the old "hey, can you spell 'I cup' " joke? You know the one. You spell "I-c-u-p" and then the jokester says "hey -- you see me pee?!?"". It's a classic amongst the 5 to 9 set.
Well, the times-they-are-a-changing and there's a new joke in town.
Spell "I hop". Then say ness. Go ahead. I'll wait.
Got it?
"I h yo pee ness".
I ate your penis.
It's been a big hit at the bus stop and the dinner table for the past few weeks. BB is a 7.5 year-old boy and is, by definition, particularly tickled by gross and inappropriate humor. BB and LG had been doing it back and forth to each other for a while.
Mr Kish and I reminded them that it was inappropriate. But we also remind them that armpit farts and poop jokes are in appropriate too. The fact that our kids were repeating playground jokes about eating penises didn't cause a blip on our radar as anything other than another example of age-typical bathroom humor. Perhaps it should have, but it didn't. Our minds just didn't go there.
I *totally* get why LG's statement raised an alarm. All those same alarms were going off for me during those horrible 15-seconds before I realized what had happened.
And while I don't appreciate the way in which this incident was communicated (really -- you just CAN'T leave that type of message on a home voice mail the day before a 5-day weekend. Especially when you have other phone numbers on file!), I do appreciate the fact that the school was so clearly invested in LG's safety and well-being.
LG and I had a long talk about what was appropriate, and I used the whole incident as a segue into a "good touch/bad touch" conversation. We've had them before, but this one had a bit more emotion behind it.
Of course, I still have to go in to school on Monday and meeting with the guidance counselor and assistant principal. I wonder if I'll get detention. Or a referral to a family therapist.
Meanwhile, I have to go touch up my roots. Cause I'm aging. Quickly.