Class Mom Read online

  * * *

  In the bathroom, getting ready for bed, I mull over my lingering thought about kissing Don. I’ve never had a moment like that before, and it’s making me uncomfortable on several levels. It was so out of left field. I mean, I adore my husband and we still have a pretty great sex life even after ten years. Since the day we met, I’ve never even thought of being with another man … unless you count my Bruce Springsteen fantasies. While I brush my teeth, I close my eyes and try to put it out of my mind. One thing’s for certain, Ron Dixon is getting some tonight.

  7

  * * *

  To: Parents

  From: JDixon

  Date: 11/18

  Subject: Party time!

  Hi, gang,

  Long time no blah blah!

  Big big news! Our children are going to have a compliment party (“You’re cute”; “No, you’re cute!”). Apparently they’re encouraged to write down compliments to each other and put them in a jar. When the jar is full, voilà, a compliment party.

  Miss Ward has chosen to let them make ice cream sundaes on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving (November 23) so she can send them off for the long weekend on a sugar high. I’ll bring the ice cream, but we need the following toppings and supplies:

  chocolate sauce

  caramel sauce

  sprinkles

  gummy bears

  plain M&Ms

  whipped cream

  marshmallow topping

  spoons, bowls, and napkins

  and of course the Batons will bring wine

  Please remember, NO NUTS!!! (See, Shirleen? I didn’t forget)

  This is a wonderful opportunity for all of you to get into my good graces by volunteering early and often to bring something. As always, response times will be noted.

  No, no. Don’t thank me. It’s my reward for being class mom.

  Jen

  * * *

  * * *

  As I click Send, I look at my watch and realize I had better get my ass in gear if I’m going to be on time for my teacher conference with Miss Ward. I wouldn’t miss this for the world. I have been shut down by her two separate times while trying to make casual conversation, so I can’t imagine what having a real discussion about Max is going to be like.

  I run upstairs to my bedroom and notice how out of breath I am. When are all my hard work and conditioning finally going to pay off? It’s only five months until the mud run, and failure is not an option. I’d better talk to Garth about ramping up my cardio.

  I throw open my closet door, pretending that I’m actually going to choose something other than my official mom uniform of Levi’s jeans, white T-shirt, and gray (or black) sweater. I have twenty different combos of basically the same outfit, and that isn’t going to change anytime soon. My only indulgence is a pair of black Prada short boots. I have had them for nine years and they probably receive better care than any of my kids. I only switch it up when I absolutely have to or when Ron makes a comment like “Didn’t you wear that yesterday … and the day before?” He’s actually the one who coined the phrase “mom uniform.” He thought he was sending me a subtle message, but I took it as a compliment. I also have an evening mom uniform for special nights out. It’s form-fitting black pants or pencil skirt, and a black button-down shirt. I have been mistaken for a waiter on more than one occasion. Once, we were at a fund-raiser at city hall, and Don Cheadle from Ocean’s Eleven asked me to get him a refill.

  Occasionally I will switch up the jeans-and-sweater look, but not today. Today I need all the comfort I can get. I never know which Miss Ward is going to show up, so I have to be at my most relaxed and nonjudgmental.

  Ron is meeting me at the school, so I grab my purse and the car keys and head out the door.

  Have I mentioned that I love my car? It is a totally tricked-out Honda Odyssey minivan, and let me tell you, I feel like the king of the road in it. Ron thought I was crazy for wanting the “I give up” car, as he calls it, but he’d never had kids before and didn’t realize how vital automatic sliding back doors would be to our existence. He also didn’t realize that I would be running Mom’s taxi service for Max and his friends for the foreseeable future. Now he understands, and he even drives the minivan … sometimes … when he thinks no one will see him.

  This is actually my third minivan, and by far my favorite. I’ve only had it for a couple of months, so Max and his friends haven’t had time to crap it up yet. I’ll try to keep the “no eating” rule as long as possible, but eventually I know I will have to let him have a snack while we are driving somewhere, and then it’s all over. We traded in the last minivan without ever knowing what the hell that smell was, although I have a sneaking suspicion it was a combo of yogurt, urine, and the remnants of my first bottle of kombucha.

  When I pull into the school parking lot, I see Ron waiting out front for me. I lock up the van and run to meet him. We are just on time.

  As we walk down the hall to room 147, I try to remember who is scheduled to meet with Miss Ward before us. I know I considered putting Gordon/Burgess either before or after us just so I could get a glimpse of Suchafox, but the timing didn’t work out.

  When we arrive, Shirleen Cobb and her husband are coming out of the classroom, laughing, with Miss Ward right behind them. Everyone seems happy happy happy, which I take as a good sign. But when they see us, they stop laughing. Not a good sign for us.

  Shirleen comes right over to me, as if we were in midconversation.

  “Graydon cannot eat ice cream. It makes him terribly gassy even though he loves it, poor lamb. You need to think of a different party treat.”

  I glance sideways at Ron and smile. Welcome to my world!

  “Shirleen, the ice cream party was not my idea. I’m just following orders. But I want you to know I thought of Graydon and am planning to bring Tofutti just for him.”

  Shirleen sizes me up and gives me a nod. “Good.”

  And off she stalks with her husband in tow.

  “Always a pleasure,” I murmur.

  Ron leans into me. “You didn’t introduce me.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Miss Ward beckons us into the classroom. She is wearing her hair pulled back into a tight bun, and her navy blue pantsuit is a flattering fit without being inappropriate. She is all business today.

  “Hi, Jenny. And you must be Ron. Come on in and have a seat.”

  She motions us toward two children’s chairs. Why do teachers do this? We are grownups with grown-up knees and grown-up butts. Would it be so hard to pull in a couple of adult-sized chairs for conference day?

  As we navigate our way down into the chairs—holding on to each other for dear life—Miss Ward sternly consults a folder that says “Dixon, Max” in purple marker. When she looks up, she smiles.

  “Well, what can I say? Max is a wonderful boy. He is kind and polite and really well liked by everyone in class.”

  Ron and I smile at each other. He takes my hand and squeezes it. My eyes get a bit teary.

  “However”—Miss Ward consults her notes—“Max is the only child in the class who doesn’t seem to enjoy P.E., although he loves recess. Any idea why that is?”

  I look knowingly at Ron. He just shrugs.

  “No idea,” he says.

  “Well, it’s nothing to worry about. Just something I noticed.” She smiles. “He is doing very well in math. Here is some of his recent work.” She slides a few sheets of paper across the mini table and explains what the class has been learning. The papers have purple smiley faces at the top of them. I guess that’s her equivalent of a grade. I’m tempted to ask what the kids who aren’t doing well get at the top of their pages, but I decide I’d rather not know.

  “Here is the book we’re reading aloud right now.” She hands over a book that I read when I was in first grade: The Dragons of Blueland, by Ruth Stiles Gannett.

  “Hey, I remember this book,” I say to no one in particular.

  “Max is great
when we are in listening mode, but when it comes to talking about the book, he never raises his hand. Any idea why that is?”

  Ron looks up, surprised.

  “Uh, okay. I mean, I read to him at night but…”

  “Maybe stop after every page or so and ask him some questions or get his opinion on what you’ve just read.”

  I think about the books we are reading Max right now. Exactly what questions can you ask a child after reading Hop on Pop? Ron just nods in agreement—or defeat.

  “I think Max just needs a confidence boost.”

  Confidence boost? He wears red pants, for God’s sake. How much more confident can he be?

  “That’s pretty much all I have to say.” Miss Ward stands. “Do you have any questions?”

  Here’s your hat, what’s your hurry? I think, but do not say. Ron and I struggle to get out of the mini chairs.

  “Uh, I’m sure I do, but I can’t think of any right now,” says Ron. I feel bad for him. He’s not used to the crazy abruptness that is Miss Ward.

  “Anything planned for the class that I should know about?” I ask.

  “Jenny, yes! Thank you for reminding me. We are taking a class trip to the dump in two weeks and I’ll need three parents to help chaperone.”

  “The dump?” I can’t hide my incredulity.

  “Well, it’s really the Kansas City Recycling Center, but believe me when I tell you the kids get much more excited when I call it the dump.”

  I can’t argue with her logic. I know Max loves going to the dump, but the real one. She is going to have a mutiny on the school bus when they pull up to a recycling plant.

  “Okay. I’ll send out an email and get some volunteers.”

  “I don’t need to know the details, Jenny.” Miss Ward ushers us to the door. As we are walking out, she inexplicably bursts into a peal of laughter. It actually makes both of us crack up, because it’s so out of nowhere. Out in the hall, the Westmans look at us in surprise.

  “Sounds like you guys had fun,” Jackie says to me.

  And that’s when I remember the Cobbs walking out of the classroom before our meeting and laughing. Hmm … a little home-court intimidation. Crazy like a fox is our Miss Ward.

  * * *

  To: Parents

  From: JDixon

  Date: 11/15

  Subject: Party time and trash talk

  What is it, my birthday???

  You guys are awesome! I got all the volunteers I needed without having to send a follow-up begging email. My class parents are growing up so quickly!

  Kudos to Sasha Lewicki’s out-of-office reply for once again taking the top response time of 22 seconds, but hot on her heels was Jill Kaplan at 1:47. The rest of you lollygagged a bit, but hey, you got there in the end. Here’s the lineup:

  chocolate sauce—Kaplans

  caramel sauce—Zalises

  sprinkles (chocolate AND rainbow!)—Elders

  gummy bears—Gordon/Burgess

  plain M&Ms—Alexanders

  whipped cream—Browns (guess we just learned a little more about the Browns, huh?)

  marshmallow topping—Fancys

  spoons, bowls, and napkins—Aikenses

  cups—Eastmans

  And the Batons will bring wine.

  Expect some seriously sugared-up kiddos when you pick them up on Wednesday.

  On another note, Miss Ward has planned a class trip to the Kansas City recycling center for Tuesday, November 22 (FYI, she’s telling them they’re going to the dump). We will need 3 parents to help chaperone the trip. So if you’ve had all your shots, don’t be shy! Get those fingers tapping and volunteer.

  GO TYPE NOW!

  Jennifer

  * * *

  I mentally start to guess who will be among the brave and crazy enough to sign up. Of course, Sasha Lewicki’s out-of-office reply is right on top of things.

  * * *

  To: JDixon

  From: Sasha Lewicki

  Date: 11/15

  Subject: Party time and trash talk

  I am out of the office until November 30.

  Thank you,

  Sasha

  To: JDixon

  From: Peetsa Tucci

  Date: 11/15

  Subject: Party time and trash talk

  I’ll go if you will.

  xo

  P.

  * * *

  I groan, although Peetsa is the one thing that would make a class trip to the dump tolerable.

  * * *

  To: JDixon

  From: Ravital Brown

  Date: 11/15

  Subject: Party time and trash talk

  This is not a joke, right? I am never sure. If it’s not a joke, I will go. I mean, I don’t like garbage, but I think Zach would like me to come.

  Thank you,

  Ravital

  To: JDixon

  From: Don Burgess

  Date: 11/15

  Subject: Party time and trash talk

  Hi, Jen,

  Not sure if I told you, but I’m the manager at the recycling center, so I can act as a chaperone. You and Peetsa should come. Our plant is pretty impressive.

  Cheers,

  Don

  * * *

  When Don said he worked in waste management, I didn’t even think of the recycling center. Well, that seals it. I email Peetsa to tell her she’s the lucky winner of a day of refuse. And while I’m at it, I assure myself that I was totally going to go anyway, even before I got the email from Suchafox.

  8

  “We’re home!” Vivs and Laura scream in unison.

  “What?” I exclaim. I drop the turkey I’m washing in the sink and run to hug my girls.

  “I wasn’t expecting you until the end of the day.” I take them into my arms and squeeze my hardest. I can’t believe they are both taller than me.

  “Well, Vivs decided to ditch her last two classes, so we left at, like, ten.” Laura can’t help sounding like a tattletale.

  “I didn’t ditch.” Viv scowls. “I was going to be the only one there. The teachers will probably thank me.”

  I’m about to make a crack about our hard-earned money when I realize something. “Hey, where’s Raj?”

  “He’s not coming.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Because he’s an asshole, Mom,” Vivs snaps, and walks upstairs, her long brown hair swinging behind her.

  “Oh, God, what now?” I ask Laura.

  She shrugs. “I have no idea. She wouldn’t talk about it in the car. And she drove like a crazy person, Mommy! We got here in an hour.”

  I hug her. “How are you, my sweet girl?”

  “I’m good!” She brightens. “I still love where I’m living. My roommates are so fun.”

  “And your classes? Ever get a chance to make it to any?”

  “Occasionally.” She smirks at me.

  Laura has blossomed into such a beauty. Her oversized eyes and lips made her look a bit like a bug when she was younger, but she has finally grown into her face and has figured out how to tame her blond curls. She looks nothing like me or her sister.

  “Where’s Maximilian Swell?” she asks.

  I smile at the nickname. Much improved over “Maxipad,” which is the first one she gave him.

  “He and Ron are out getting cranberries. Hey, can you grab an apron and start pulling bread apart for the stuffing?”

  “Sure. Just let me go to the bathroom.” Laura heads upstairs to the room she shares with Vivs when they’re home. Two minutes later, both girls come down and put on aprons. I love that they just do this without a lot of nagging on my part. It reminds me of how strict I was when I raised them. They had set chores every day and were never allowed to be sitting down if I was still working. I’ve really slacked off with Max. Vivs gives me shit about it all the time.

  As they pull apart two loaves of white bread, I go back to the turkey I had unceremoniously dumped in the sink. Vivs is taking her bad mood out on the bread and rippi
ng it apart with gusto.

  “Want to talk about it?” I ask.

  “Talk about what?” She looks up, annoyed.

  “Your bad mood.”

  “I’m not in a bad mood, Mom, I’m just preoccupied.”

  Unfortunately, Laura decides to jump in.

  “Oh, and I’m just lucky to be alive, because you were”—she makes quotes with her hands, which are full of bread—“‘preoccupied’ while you were driving.”

  “Oh, my God, you are such a baby.” Vivs slams her hands down on the counter.

  “Girls! What the hell? Is this how we’re going to start Thanksgiving weekend? Laura, let it go about the driving. She got you here. And you.” I look directly at Vivs. “Either tell us what’s going on, or snap out of it.”

  Vivs looks down.

  “I’m sorry. It’s just Raj did something so stupid and I’m really pissed at him.”

  She pauses, as if trying to decide something.

  “He asked me to marry him.”

  “What?” screams Laura. “Are you kidding me? That’s what you’re upset about? A hot guy wants to marry you?”

  “Shut up. You have no idea what you’re talking about,” Vivs shoots back.

  Laura throws her hands up in the air.

  “Somebody please give me a problem like that,” she says to the air around her.

  “Mom!” Vivs whines.

  “Okay, stop. Jeez, you guys. You’ve only been home for half an hour.”

  I grab a towel to dry my hands and wish like hell it was time for a glass of wine. It’s three o’clock somewhere, isn’t it?

  “So he proposed and you said…”

  “No,” Vivs answers quickly. “I said no. Of course I said no.”

  “Why would you say no?” Laura asks without an ounce of guile.

  “Uh, because I’m not white trash living in the backwoods of Kentucky,” Vivs says.

  I look at Laura, who is still confused. I put my arm around her.

  “Don’t you think twenty-one is a little young to get married?” I ask her.

  She looks at me thoughtfully.