In an effort to be an engaged and involved parent, as I have generally been throughout my daughter’s life, I attempted to attend my first PTA meeting today.
It seems, however, that once again the gods were conspiring against me and I didn’t heed the warning signs:
• Torrential rain – Yes, when it’s raining so hard you can barely see 10 feet in front of you, screw the meeting. Pick up your child and go home. Also do not worry that if you don’t attend you will not be “walking the walk” in relation to all the times you bitched about this school having an under-active PTA. Nobody will even notice. Just go home. You can be a martyr some other time.
• When you reach the meeting and nobody can tell you if the 12 piles of papers (I counted) on the sign-in table are for attendees or not, you may want to just hightail it out of there because this is clearly not an organized meeting that will start soon and end expeditiously. If you decide, against your better judgment to stay, do not try to engage the very brusque and unfriendly woman to your left who hints that your older child shouldn’t take up a seat because there are clearly more adults than chairs.
• When your one yr old decides that instead of sitting quietly in your lap he’d rather make a bunch of noise, squirm and kick his shoes off, you should not stay at the meeting that still hasn’t started. No. You should depart because it’s all downhill from that point.
Downhill? Yes. You see, after doing his hooting, squirming and shoe removing routine, your one yr old proceeds to run down the aisle, leaving a faint whiff of something. Could it be…? Why yes! It’s poop! Smart mom that you are, you decide this is a great (and very valid) reason to leave…except you still have to pay for your daughter’s book fair selection.
As you put the squirming boy down to write a check, he runs off and a kindly teacher intercepts him, poopy diaper and all (which she may not yet be aware of), and offers to hold him while you write a check. While you are grateful, all you can think about is the caustic poop he produced the day before, courtesy of his antibiotics for the weird thing on his finger. Fearing a blistery diaper rash, you forgo the nice lady’s offer to hold him so you can partake in the meeting and you finally leave.
When you get to the car to fetch your diaper bag (because you love to learn your lessons the hard way and refuse to bring it with you ever), you decide against finding a bathroom to change the baby’s diaper because it’s too far away. You decide instead to recline the front seat of the momvan and do it right there. While hustling and doing your damnedest to get the evil fiery acid poop off his skin, it starts pouring again and you have no hands free to hold an umbrella. Your back, butt, legs, shoes and the back part of your freshly blow dried hair are getting soaked. Great.
Finally, you finish and you walk around to your door just in time for a truck to come roaring past you on the street. You move quickly but not quickly enough. A big splash of water soaks the front of the momvan along with your legs, feet and leather sandals. You’re now 3/4 soaking wet.
Will you ever learn?