by Perez, Nina
My husband comes on Wednesday. Not a day too soon. This single mother business is lonely.
School Bus Drivers, Unsung Heroes
March 21, 2007
Today I went with Kali’s second grade class on a field trip. We went to a Japanese steakhouse for lunch. I know what some of you are thinking. Probably the same thing I thought when the permission slips came home. "Damn, what kind of field trip is that?" Well, it is the second of three scheduled to coincide with whatever her class is learning at the time. This trip was actually more sensible than say, the trip my 7th grade math class took to see Spike Lee's, School Daze. Yeah, I don't know how my teacher pulled that shit off.
Kali’s grade just finished several weeks of learning all about Japan - the people, culture, language, etc. My child can now count to five in Japanese, say a lot of basic words and phrases, write and recognize a myriad of symbols for basic words, and tell you all about its geographic makeup. I can barely give directions from my house to the airport.
Seeing as how we live in suburban Atlanta there wasn't much to offer the children by way of Japanese culture, so the best the school could come up with was Nagano's Japanese Sushi and Steakhouse.
As we traveled by school bus to the restaurant, I wondered how the bus driver did this on a day to day basis, twice per day. I honestly would have driven the bus off a bridge, killing myself and the children on board just to be free of the noise.
I'm proud to say that the other class we were sharing the bus with seemed to be making most of the noise, but that's not to say Kali's class were on their absolute best behavior. I saw one little boy slap another girl in the face... twice. Then there were the ones who couldn't grasp the concept of keeping their legs out of the aisle. You could totally tell the difference between the way the teacher disciplined and I did.
"We do not use our outside voices inside the bus, boys and girls." - Teacher.
"Um, you need to sit down on the seat and I'm not telling you again.” – Nina
"If you do that again, you're losing 5 minutes of recess." – Teacher
"Don't make me turn around." – Nina
And I wasn't even talking to my own child! When we got to the restaurant I thought it was cool that the bus driver ate with us. She had a Coke with her lunch, but I really wouldn't have minded if she had something stronger. Hell, she earned it.
Lunch was good, but then I really enjoy that Hibachi-style food. There were a few children in Kali's class that "acted like they ain't never been nowhere." Remember when your Mom used to give you that warning whenever you either went to a. a restaurant or b. someone else's house for dinner? My mother's main fear was people thinking that she didn't feed us at home. Even if times were lean, she didn't want people to know that. So, there would be no acting impatiently for food and no asking for seconds or eating off of someone else's plate. Therefore, you got the warning, "don't act like you ain't never been nowhere," before your ass even left the house.
After the waitress mistakenly gave some of the children Cokes when we clearly told her Sprite, there was one really overweight boy who managed to suck down the whole glass of Coke in the time it took her to run to the kitchen with replacements. I was embarrassed for his parents.
And speaking of embarrassed, don't even get me started on the little girl named Precious. Yes, you read that right. Precious. When Precious first joined Kali's class the conversation went like this:
"We have a new student. Her name is Precious."
"She's brown like Mommy, right?"
“How'd you know?"
"Mommy just knows."
Anyway, poor Precious was dressed in a red mini skirt that even she knew she had no business wearing because she kept tugging at it, a dingy white shirt, her hair was a hot ass mess, and she had on black, knee-high, pleather boots. To add insult to injury, her knees were so ashy I thought she'd been kneeling in flour before we left. Why, my people, why?
And as if to remind me why I don't like children, and why I'll probably not chaperone another damn field trip, here's a conversation on the bus returning to school:
"Kali's Mom, are you going to check Kali out of school?" asked a very cute little blue-eyed boy named Ben.
"No, she's going to stay and do her work with everyone else."
Kali asked, "Why?"
"Because I have a lot of homework to do and I have to study."
"You're in school?" Ben asked.
"Yes."
"I thought you couldn't be married in college."
Little bastard.
The Love of a Good Black Woman
March 22, 2007
Sometimes Donny gets offended when I say he may go White Boy Crazy.
I don't care.
Well, I care enough that I don't push it. I don't want him to snap and kill me. Who needs to be right that badly, you know?
Whenever we talk about his past I am reminded of how white he is - the good old days of pharmacy parties where he and his friends would each raid their parents' medicine cabinets, and then get together to take whatever they found. It's a wonder he's still alive.
And let's not forget how he came home from Michigan last week, after attending his Grandmother's funeral, and told me about playing Beer Pong with his siblings and cousins. Huh? What? Beer Pong is officially the whitest activity in the world.
Between that and finding out that he was target practicing while he was there, I've been watching his white ass like a hawk since he's been home. At the first hint of WBC emergence, I'm just going to kill his ass first and claim self defense. My whole defense will be based off of the details of the Scott Peterson and Mark Hacking cases. I will just look at the judge and jury and be like, "Can you really blame me?"
Just when I thought I could rest easy, and with both eyes closed, we have a conversation like last night's. I'm doing homework and he's playing Tiger Woods' Golf on the XBOX. I start to tell him a story about this girl whose ferret likes Starbucks. He had the same reaction the girl did when she told me the story which was, "Can you imagine a ferret hopped up on caffeine? Insane!" I was thinking more like, "Um, why would you give a ferret enough Starbucks to figure out that he likes it? That shit's expensive!"
So, then my husband says, "I used to get my ferret stoned."
I drop my pencil. "Excuse me?"
"I used to get my ferret stoned."
My mouth is wide open.
"What? It was funny."
"I can't even believe this. You mean to tell me you had a ferret? How white are you?"
"Shut up."
"What would even possess you to try and intoxicate a ferret? I hope you realize that you were very well on your way to being White Boy Crazy. I saved your life and the lives of God knows how many innocents. Donny, you were saved by the love of a good Black woman."
And then he says, very calmly…
"I know."
Sigh. I guess it's back to sleeping with one eye open again.
The Daughter Becomes the Mother
March 23, 2007
It's a scary moment when a woman realizes she's becoming her mother. Not that there's anything wrong with my mother. She's beautiful, strong, generous, and funny. She went from welfare to the NYPD. No, she wasn't arrested; she was a cop.
I'm not saying I'm a better mother. Sure, Kali’s life is different than mine was at her age. She lives in a house now that is much nicer than any house I ever lived in. As a matter of fact, I wouldn't say I'm a better mother than anyone who loves, takes care of, provides for, and protects their children. We all do the best we can. And that's exactly what my mother did: the best she could. We were always healthy, happy, and safe. Everything else is just packaging.
I will say I'm a lot more fun than my Mom was with me. Then again, she also had four other kids, a house to clean, and a dangerous job. Hell, she wasn't having fun with us because she loved us less, her ass was just tired.
Imagine how scary it is to not only realize you are becoming your mother, but that your chi
ld is turning into you, all at the same time. Yesterday, Kali had a meltdown. The batteries in her DirecTV remote were dead and she couldn't change the channel to watch her favorite show. Yes, I know. First world problem. Back when I was growing up, I didn't have my own television in my room. If my mother was watching Donahue my siblings and I had to imagine what was going on with our favorite programs.
Nina: “Then Rog says, ‘You're not gonna tell Mama, are you?’”
My sister: “And Dee says, ‘No. I won't tell... if you give me a quarter.’”
(Canned laughter)
My brother: “Then Dwayne comes in, ‘Hey, hey, hey.’”
So, last night Kali storms past the study in a blur of pouty lips and wild hair. I hear her rummaging through the kitchen drawers. Donny asks what she's looking for. She growls a response. I barely make out the word "batteries."
"Here, Kali," I called out. I handed her two batteries from the computer desk. She stomps upstairs. Donny comes into the study, "That girl is so much like you it is scary."
"I don't act like that!"
I totally act like that.
As she reaches the top of the stairs I hear a thump and then a wail. In her huff, she managed to whack her hand against the banister. Here's what my mother would have said to me, "That's what you get for flouncin' your butt around."
I settled for the more succinct, "Good for you." Don't worry, she couldn't hear me. I was downstairs, remember? After we realized I'd given her bad batteries, and with her hand throbbing, what followed was about five minutes of pure hysteria. By the time I figured out a solution (we just gave her the DTV remote from our room) my child was a heap of quivering, sobbing flesh and tears on the floor of the formal living room.
I laid down with her, rubbed her back, and wiped her tears. I kissed her wet face. I explained that she couldn't react that way every time something went wrong. Donny was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed watching the whole thing.
"Hello, Pot. Have you met Kettle?"
Smartass.
The one thing that all parents have in common is that we ask our kids to lie. We teach them not to, and we damn sure make it clear that they can't lie to us, but all parents will ask their children to lie at some point. Anyone who says otherwise is, well, lying.
Kali's school is having a Fun Run fundraiser to obtain a new gym floor. For the next week the kids get pledges from family, friends, and local businesses. Every day they bring in their pledge sheet and get prizes. So, if I pledge $10 for every lap Kali will walk/run she gets a camera. A $3 per lap pledge gets her a ball. The prize for the $50 per lap pledge is an iPod Nano.
I explained to Kali that normally that iPod would cost about $150. I told her if I pledged $50 per lap, and she did one lap, we'd get the iPod she wanted for her birthday for $100 less, and we'd also help the school get a new gym floor. I then made her familiar with the terms, "can't beat that with a stick" and "win-win." The problem, of course, is that I have to trust that my child will not do more than one lap. She assures me she can handle doing one lap only and then sitting the rest out. We decide to practice to be sure.
"Ok, Kali. I'll be the Fun Run people, and you be you. You just finished running or walking one lap. You ready?”
"Wait."
She then proceeds to run through the kitchen, foyer, formal living and dining rooms, and back to me in the kitchen. She stands before me, huffing and puffing, leaning over with her hands resting on her knees.
"Ok, I'm ready."
Hey, my child's a professional.
"Hey, little girl. You only ran one lap. Don't you want to do more?"
"No, just one."
"Are you sure? All your friends are doing more. You can really help your school!"
"No, that's okay. I just want to do one because my Mommy said we can't afford an iPod the other way."
Yeah, so, we still gotta practice that part.
Burrito Armpits
April 19, 2007
"Mommy, my armpits smell like old burritos!"
What?
You ask Kali how it feels to be eight, and she'll tell you it feels the same as seven. Of course, we know that having a birthday doesn't automatically transform you into some new, year-older person, but I have noticed a slight change in Kali each spring right around the time of her birthday.
One year, I happened to notice that her vocabulary seemed to expand. Another, I noticed that her eating habits and appetite changed - toys be damned, she was definitely eating more than a Happy Meal provides. This year I noticed something else.
Yesterday, I came into the study to check my email. Kali was sitting on the floor near the computer watching TV and Donny, who had been on the computer when I entered, moved to the sofa so I could get on.
"What's that smell?" I asked sniffing the air. "Is that me?"
"I don't know. Probably," replied Donny.
"What smell?" asked Kali.
I let it go. Hours later Kali was on the computer, and I leaned over her to type something on the screen.
"Oh, my God! Kali, that's you!"
"What?!"
Then I remembered that my child had P.E. that day. But still! I know it's been awhile since I've been in gym class, but I'm pretty sure "roll around in hot garbage" wasn't a school-approved activity.
If you've been reading this blog awhile you may remember the blog a few months ago where Kali informed me that her armpits smelled like old burritos. This revelation led to the purchase of her first powder-scented deodorant. It's not like it's something she needs every day. Just once in a while, after a particularly trying day I suppose, she comes home a little... tart. Poor baby.
What I don't understand is the fact that Kali gets a kick out of it. She was all, "Hahahaha, smell it, Mommy! Smell it!" And she'd proceed to stick her hands under her pits and shove them in my face. I all but threw her little butt in the tub.
I thought I had years before I had to worry about this! Then again, when most of the little girls at a recent pool party were already sporting little breast buds, or niblets if you will, I shouldn't be surprised.
Remorse
May 8, 2007
Kali tells me she doesn’t want to go to school tomorrow.
"Why not?"
"Cause I'm going to be in trouble."
"What did you do?"
"First you have to promise not to get mad and not to make an angry face."
"Fine. What?"
"I accidentally stole a piece of candy."
With great effort, I keep my face neutral as I put down the icing spatula and turn from the cake I’d been decorating.
"How, exactly, do you accidentally steal anything."
"Well, Stephanie took one from Ms. A’s desk. So, I took one and I was going to put it back, but I forgot."
"Since when do you do something because someone else did it?"
"I was going to put it back!"
"That's not the point!"
"That's what the [substitute] teacher said."
"So, I guess she's going to tell your teacher when she gets back tomorrow?"
"Yes."
"Go right now and write an apology to your teacher, and understand that there will still be consequences when you go to school tomorrow... as well there should be. And don't you ever put your hands on something that doesn't belong to you. You understand me?"
"Yes." With tears in her eyes she writes this apology:
Dear Ms. _________,
I'm sorry I took candy from the jar. First, Stephanie took one then I took one. I was gonna put it back before recess, but we didn't have time and I forgot. It was in my pocket. Please don't let me get in trouble, PLEEEEASE!
From,
Kali
P.S. Stephanie didn't say sorry, but I did. :-)
"Kali! This is not an apology! Go write it again and this time I don't want any mention of Stephanie! And no smiley faces with big teeth."
I was secretly quite pleased with her punctuation and spelling. I do
n't have the new apology because she took it to school, but it went something like:
I'm sorry and it won't happen again. Ever! From, Kali
After she went to bed last night, my parents, Donny and I sat around the kitchen table talking and I showed them both letters.
My Dad said, “Aww, the first one had personality!”
“Fuck personality! I want remorse!”
Hit the Deck
May 10, 2007
Last night, after a dinner of sage pork chops and parmesan rice, Donny and I were chilling in the family room catching up CSI episodes. I noticed a deck of cards on the coffee table. Hit the Deck. I called Kali into the room for a little family time.
I should have known that any card game whose instructions begin with, "All players should remove all jewelry from their hands," would be dangerous. The game plays pretty much like Uno with a few exceptions including the, "Hit the Deck with a Hand" card. Once played, the player must yell out that phrase and all players then race to slap their hand down on the discard pile. The last hand down has to pick up four cards.
The first time the card was played I thought I would need stitches from the cut I got thanks to Kali's claws.
"Owww!” I yelped.
"You gotta be faster," said my completely unsympathetic child.
Donny is probably the most competitive person I know. Even more so than me, and I hate losing. It doesn't matter if he's playing Jacks with cancer-stricken children or a card game with his own child. He goes for blood… which he got as I cut a scared glance at Kali and licked my wound. Speaking of licking, at one point Donny threatened to lick both sides of his hand so that we wouldn't want to place our hands near his when he played a Hit the Deck with a Hand card.
