Please excuse this post if it doesn't make complete sense--I've been up since two a. m. thanks to my little two-year-old man who surprised me with something terrible in the middle of the night. Who's complaining though, right? At least I have a blog all ready for tomorrow.
If you read my blog How to Beat a Bully yesterday you might remember this part:
"What are you going to do about them tomorrow?" The Hippie asked.
"Oh, leave that to me." The Scribe chuckled. "I have a great idea."
As the title implies, my oldest daughter wasn't kidding.
My day wasn't the best thing since chocolate coke. It was actually quite a bummer. I woke up to an urgent message on my machine. The visa representative said I must call them back as soon as possible because all our card information had indeed been compromised. I am typing on Howie right now. I thought I'd fully forgiven him for leaking numbers, but I'm still bitter. Someone in a different country tried running two of our cards for $50.94 OVER ELEVEN TIMES! The bank didn't let any of the charges go through though, so that was like golden eggs on a summer's afternoon.
Between canceling and ordering new cards, I got my taxes done, which I just realized were done wrong. The lady marked us as having three dependents. Actually, we have four. I know that's a dumb thing to be bothered about, but after you've pushed a watermelon out of your butt, tell me you wouldn't be upset.
Amidst all that madness, I got a call. It was from the elementary school. Was The Scribe tardy again? For the forty-second time? I worried as I looked at my cell.
I shuddered as I clicked my phone open. When the school calls it's almost never good news--it's practically in their damn job description to call with bad news.
"Is this a good time?" The Scribe's teacher asked on the other line. That's when I remembered The Scribe's words: "Oh, leave that to me. I have a great idea." I knew it couldn't be good. What had she done?
"Your daughter," the teacher cleared her throat, "your daughter has engaged in some poor behavior."
I gasped, was she a criminal now . . . engaging in bad things? Would the school send her to kiddie jail? Why can't life be easy for two seconds--TWO SECONDS. "Does it involve a worm?" I asked suddenly.
"What? Er . . . no." She gained her fortitude and continued. "It involves a note--a horrible note she put on a child's back."
"What did it say?" My mouth felt dry like someone had taken a Kirby and vacuumed the entire thing. I licked my lips and waited for the answer.
"KICK," the teacher's voice trembled, "ME!"
"Oh, my gosh! Did anyone kick the kid?"
"No, no one got her. Your daughter should consider herself lucky that I found the note in time."
I put my head into my hand and decided to visit the school. The whole thing was MORTIFYING! When I got there, the room flew as a ball of chaos. Kids ran around. They threw paper and cracked dumb jokes. I saw The Scribe and another girl glaring at each other from across the room. Then a disheveled little boy ran up to my daughter and said, "You're a baby! A . . . B-A-B-Y." Well wasn't that fantastic--he's in third grade AND he can spell.
The Scribe folded her arms. "Am not! You're the baby."
The boy's eyebrows crinkled in thought and he tapped his pointer finger against his bottom lip. "Fine. I guess I am a baby, but if I am, that makes you my Mama!" He feigned baby cries, becoming one of the best actors I've ever seen. "Mama! Mama!" Even though he teased my daughter, I have to admit that kid's pretty witty.
The teacher saw me and I talked to The Scribe after that. "Why did you do it? Give me one good reason why," I said.
She looked at me with innocent eyes. "Because she was mean to me and if I don't stand up to her, she'll just keep being mean."
Her argument did sound convincing, but there are two sides to every story. I began wondering why some children are so mean to The Scribe. I got a brilliant idea then. I remembered how the punishment fit the crime in The Parent Trap--when in parenting doubt refer to the classics. "Fine, " I said, probably acting like a spoiled three-year-old. "You want to put notes on kids' backs? Great for you! I'm calling her mother and setting up a play date. The two of you will get along--even if it kills me."
I stormed from the school after that and worried maybe my sweet Scribe is turning from a victim to a bully! I really don't know what to do, but at least I'm good at winging it. I called the girl's mom and by golly, they're having a play date on Friday!