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Naughty Mommy: Stepford Stories

I participated in the PTA’s “Lunch with Mom” yesterday. Logistically, it was a stretch, but since traffic is much lighter during lunchtime than it is during rush hour I was able to make it work. My husband, he got to do “Breakfast with Dad” at 7:15 Tuesday morning. You know dads have to work so they get to do breakfast with the kids instead of lunch. I’m sure it’s occurred to the Stepford PTA that lunch with the kids might be tough on a mom’s schedule—this is why lunch does not begin until after the morning gym classes are over. They are very considerate. 

In the middle of a driving rain storm, I pulled the Palinmobile into the school parking lot on two wheels. No worries. I had on three-and-half-inch heels to keep myself above the puddles in the parking lot. I was two minutes late, but was able to navigate the office sign-in Nazi, I mean secretary, and make it into the cafeteria with my daughter’s McDonald’s Happy Meal before she had completely convinced herself I was not coming.

She and I sat at the PTA table that was decorated with a tablecloth and flowers. My daughter chose two of her friends to eat with us—one girl and one boy. I know both of these children well and I can say with all honestly that I adore them both. I don’t say that about most children, but I really dig these two kids. They are kind, bright, and very funny. 

As we began lunch, my daughter’s girlfriend busted into a monologue about how irritating her older brother is, how much trouble he’s been getting into at middle school, and how he only discusses his issues with their father, rather than their mother, because “Dad gets all that boy crap and doesn’t freak out like Mom.” I muffled a snort.

Then my daughter’s other friend decides to chime into the conversation. If my daughter one day marries this child, I will be insanely jealous and worried at the same time. He is a seven year old player and he plays me like a fiddle. He has shaggy brown hair, bright blue eyes, a sly grin, and is missing two of his front teeth. In short, he’s a lady killer. 

He leans in really close to me and says, “Hey, Miss Kristi. You know what I did at lunch yesterday?”

I said smiling, “Noooo, what?” 

He replies conspiratorially, “I got up from my seat and got some ketchup packets without asking the teacher. And I didn’t even get caught!” 

I snickered and said sarcastically, “You weren’t being naughty were you? I would have a hard time believing that.”

To which, much to my genuine surprise, he says, “Nooooooo, Miss Kristi. YOU know I would NEVER be naughty. I don’t say the F word like the third graders do. You know the F word? F - U - C - K? I would NEVER say that. Now that’s naughty.”

After almost choking to death on my chicken nugget, all I could muster was “Well, yes. That would be.”

As I pulled out of the parking lot, all I could think was that I had been called out by a second grader. I’m a very, very naughty Mommy, indeed.

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