mom.
“She’s a little shit. She pushes their buttons. Watch out forher,” Sandy advised me. “The upside, though, is if Agnes beats up your kid, you get a nice gift. I love my planter.”
Soon after Zara started at her new school, Sandy told me, a planter and a gift basket arrived on Sandy’s porch. They were from Agnes’s mom. The basket was full of all kinds of cool shit that Sandy would never buy herself and a gift card for a massage. It’s kind of Agnes’s mom’s MO. She never admits her guilt, but the gift basket is a kind of apology for when Agnes hurts your kid. Everyone knows it. Just about every house on Sandy’s block has a beautiful planter on the porch. One neighbor even has a new cherry tree, because Agnes chopped hers down on President’s Day after she studied George Washington. “She has such a love of American history!” was what her mother said as she wrote the check for the tree.
From that day forward I started to keep an eye on Agnes, just like Sandy had suggested.
I didn’t see much out of the ordinary. She pulled a lot of Eddie Haskell shit when I worked in the classroom: “You look very nice today, ma’am.” “Thank you for volunteering in our classroom today.” “I’m so happy you’re here today!”
I wanted to say, Cut the crap, kid. I’m a tired thirty-seven-year-old woman in mom jeans. Even my husband doesn’t think I look nice today .
Although Agnes was smarmy and seemed poised to have an excellent career in sales and/or politics, I had never witnessed her being violent, so it did surprise me when Gomer said Agnes had “attacked” him. Maybe Gomer felt attacked by Agnes’s bullshit. I know I did.
“What did Agnes do to you?” I asked Gomer.
“I told you. She attacked me,” Gomer sniffled.
“But how did she attack you? Did she bite you?” I asked, thinking of Zara.
“She punches me at recess. She does it when the teachers aren’t looking.”
“Well, did you tell your teacher?”
“No! I can’t! Agnes says, ‘Snitches get stitches.’ That means if you tattle you get hit harder.”
WTF, where did that come from? Agnes didn’t get that from Nickelodeon . “Yes, I know what that means.”
“Well, I didn’t. I had to ask Agnes, and she punched me again while she told me. Just like she does every day!”
Every day, and I was just now hearing about this?
Now, at this point you might think I’m a terrible mother, because I’m not freaking out and calling the school and Agnes’s mother and filing a restraining order against the little asshole. But you must understand: Gomer has an overactive imagination. Oh, screw it, let’s be honest—Gomer can be a big fat liar.
You must proceed with extreme caution when Gomer tells you a story about school, because you’re never quite sure if it’s true or not. I’ve been burned a few times now by flying off the handle and assuming that my precious baby was telling me the God’s honest truth, only to find out he’d pieced together several episodes of Wonder Pets and The Backyardigans to create his epic tale of woe. (This should probably be a lesson for me to pay more attention to what he’s watching on TV, but then what’s the point of plopping him in front of the TV to use it as a babysitter if I have to sit there, too? Duh.)
Honestly, if Sandy hadn’t told me to keep an eye on Agnes, I probably would have called Gomer a liar and said goodnight. But I’d seen the stitches on that snitch Zara.
“Okay, Gomer. Don’t worry. Daddy and I will take care of it.”
I tucked him in and then went downstairs to figure out what to do.
I was hesitant to contact Agnes’s mother, because it could easily spiral out of control and I can only imagine how that conversation might go:
Jen: Hi, this is Jen, Gomer’s mom. Listen, I was talking to Gomer tonight and he mentioned that Agnes has been punching him several times a day.
Agnes’s mom: Oh, Jen, I’m actually glad you called.
Jen: You are? Great. I’d
“She’s a little shit. She pushes their buttons. Watch out forher,” Sandy advised me. “The upside, though, is if Agnes beats up your kid, you get a nice gift. I love my planter.”
Soon after Zara started at her new school, Sandy told me, a planter and a gift basket arrived on Sandy’s porch. They were from Agnes’s mom. The basket was full of all kinds of cool shit that Sandy would never buy herself and a gift card for a massage. It’s kind of Agnes’s mom’s MO. She never admits her guilt, but the gift basket is a kind of apology for when Agnes hurts your kid. Everyone knows it. Just about every house on Sandy’s block has a beautiful planter on the porch. One neighbor even has a new cherry tree, because Agnes chopped hers down on President’s Day after she studied George Washington. “She has such a love of American history!” was what her mother said as she wrote the check for the tree.
From that day forward I started to keep an eye on Agnes, just like Sandy had suggested.
I didn’t see much out of the ordinary. She pulled a lot of Eddie Haskell shit when I worked in the classroom: “You look very nice today, ma’am.” “Thank you for volunteering in our classroom today.” “I’m so happy you’re here today!”
I wanted to say, Cut the crap, kid. I’m a tired thirty-seven-year-old woman in mom jeans. Even my husband doesn’t think I look nice today .
Although Agnes was smarmy and seemed poised to have an excellent career in sales and/or politics, I had never witnessed her being violent, so it did surprise me when Gomer said Agnes had “attacked” him. Maybe Gomer felt attacked by Agnes’s bullshit. I know I did.
“What did Agnes do to you?” I asked Gomer.
“I told you. She attacked me,” Gomer sniffled.
“But how did she attack you? Did she bite you?” I asked, thinking of Zara.
“She punches me at recess. She does it when the teachers aren’t looking.”
“Well, did you tell your teacher?”
“No! I can’t! Agnes says, ‘Snitches get stitches.’ That means if you tattle you get hit harder.”
WTF, where did that come from? Agnes didn’t get that from Nickelodeon . “Yes, I know what that means.”
“Well, I didn’t. I had to ask Agnes, and she punched me again while she told me. Just like she does every day!”
Every day, and I was just now hearing about this?
Now, at this point you might think I’m a terrible mother, because I’m not freaking out and calling the school and Agnes’s mother and filing a restraining order against the little asshole. But you must understand: Gomer has an overactive imagination. Oh, screw it, let’s be honest—Gomer can be a big fat liar.
You must proceed with extreme caution when Gomer tells you a story about school, because you’re never quite sure if it’s true or not. I’ve been burned a few times now by flying off the handle and assuming that my precious baby was telling me the God’s honest truth, only to find out he’d pieced together several episodes of Wonder Pets and The Backyardigans to create his epic tale of woe. (This should probably be a lesson for me to pay more attention to what he’s watching on TV, but then what’s the point of plopping him in front of the TV to use it as a babysitter if I have to sit there, too? Duh.)
Honestly, if Sandy hadn’t told me to keep an eye on Agnes, I probably would have called Gomer a liar and said goodnight. But I’d seen the stitches on that snitch Zara.
“Okay, Gomer. Don’t worry. Daddy and I will take care of it.”
I tucked him in and then went downstairs to figure out what to do.
I was hesitant to contact Agnes’s mother, because it could easily spiral out of control and I can only imagine how that conversation might go:
Jen: Hi, this is Jen, Gomer’s mom. Listen, I was talking to Gomer tonight and he mentioned that Agnes has been punching him several times a day.
Agnes’s mom: Oh, Jen, I’m actually glad you called.
Jen: You are? Great. I’d
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