it.
After a half hour or so, the judges walked toward the gym doors and there was a somewhat hysterical plea over the PA: “ All parents must exit the gym, repeat, must exit the gym, in order for the judging to begin .”
A couple of the moms looked as if they might have to be Tasered to get out of there as they fluffed with final details at their kid’s display area. Almost every single kid with one of those hovering parents sat in a folding chair in front of his project, head buried in a book, oblivious to the fact that, apparently, his future, and perhaps the future of the entire free world, was on the line.
Finally, the fifteen or so judges filed into the gym, all wearing white lab coats and holding clipboards.
“Look! It’s a nerd parade!” I squealed to the mom standing next to me. She walked away. If I’d been a science fair experiment, the title would’ve been called “Corrosive Relationships.”
The truth was, I wasn’t used to the rarified air of the advanced competition and it showed. The in-school contests were more laid back because almost nobody really expected to win. That’s how you end up with my all-time favorite: “Meth: Friend or Foe,” beautifully displayed for all the world and, most likely, Child Protective Services, to see.
The judging was followed by an open house and assembly
for the awards ceremony. By this time, duh-hubby had gotten off work and was able to join me and several hundred other parents in the auditorium. I’d seen the competition during a walk-through in the gym and was fairly certain that unless the Princess had cobbled together an atom splitter in the past ninety minutes, she was, I believe the scientific term is: “toast.” I consoled myself with the knowledge that I’d TiVo-d Jon Gosselin at Sundance so the night really wasn’t a total loss.
A very serious and sincere woman who looked a lot like Ms. Frizzle in The Magic School Bus books told us that she was in charge of this rodeo and there was much applause. A few of the parents stood up and applauded. “Suck ups” I said-coughed into my hand. Her assistant stood like Vanna White, repeatedly motioning to a table full of trophies in varying sizes.
Trophies that we damn sure wouldn’t be taking home.
The couple beside us, fortunately, were also first-timers.
“There’s some weird shit goin’ on up in here,” the man said. I nodded in agreement.
Winners were announced in elementary, middle, and high school divisions, plus some kids won special trophies donated by local industries. One little girl, about eight years old, won four different trophies. Her parents squealed and did high fives. Every time. The couple beside me looked down at their daughter who was, at this point, sobbing into her best Sunday dress, having realized that she’d lost the elementary round.
“Take her for ice cream,” I told my new friend.
“Only if I can get beer, too,” he said grimly.
It’s true, I thought to myself. All the good ones really are taken.
On the way out, there was some sobbing—by the parents. One parent comforted a distraught mom by saying that, “It’s obvious that these judges had no clue what makes a good project at state!”
“Yeah,” I said. “No clue! They got no clue!”
“That’s right,” she said, sniffling a bit. “What was your project?”
I’m not proud of what happened next. Why couldn’t I have just been honest about the project that the Princesses had worked on for the better part of four weeks, taking breaks only long enough to talk for a few hours about how awesomely ripped Taylor Lautner is.
How could I fancy up this suddenly plain-Jane science fair project? I couldn’t just talk about chips and dip and then redipping and how it’s all icky and germy.
“Oh, my daughter and her friend tested the, uh, molecular structure, of the, uh, bacterium posterity of the random accelerated protein inhibitor, uh, rubric.”
I’ve discovered that if you put “rubric” in
After a half hour or so, the judges walked toward the gym doors and there was a somewhat hysterical plea over the PA: “ All parents must exit the gym, repeat, must exit the gym, in order for the judging to begin .”
A couple of the moms looked as if they might have to be Tasered to get out of there as they fluffed with final details at their kid’s display area. Almost every single kid with one of those hovering parents sat in a folding chair in front of his project, head buried in a book, oblivious to the fact that, apparently, his future, and perhaps the future of the entire free world, was on the line.
Finally, the fifteen or so judges filed into the gym, all wearing white lab coats and holding clipboards.
“Look! It’s a nerd parade!” I squealed to the mom standing next to me. She walked away. If I’d been a science fair experiment, the title would’ve been called “Corrosive Relationships.”
The truth was, I wasn’t used to the rarified air of the advanced competition and it showed. The in-school contests were more laid back because almost nobody really expected to win. That’s how you end up with my all-time favorite: “Meth: Friend or Foe,” beautifully displayed for all the world and, most likely, Child Protective Services, to see.
The judging was followed by an open house and assembly
for the awards ceremony. By this time, duh-hubby had gotten off work and was able to join me and several hundred other parents in the auditorium. I’d seen the competition during a walk-through in the gym and was fairly certain that unless the Princess had cobbled together an atom splitter in the past ninety minutes, she was, I believe the scientific term is: “toast.” I consoled myself with the knowledge that I’d TiVo-d Jon Gosselin at Sundance so the night really wasn’t a total loss.
A very serious and sincere woman who looked a lot like Ms. Frizzle in The Magic School Bus books told us that she was in charge of this rodeo and there was much applause. A few of the parents stood up and applauded. “Suck ups” I said-coughed into my hand. Her assistant stood like Vanna White, repeatedly motioning to a table full of trophies in varying sizes.
Trophies that we damn sure wouldn’t be taking home.
The couple beside us, fortunately, were also first-timers.
“There’s some weird shit goin’ on up in here,” the man said. I nodded in agreement.
Winners were announced in elementary, middle, and high school divisions, plus some kids won special trophies donated by local industries. One little girl, about eight years old, won four different trophies. Her parents squealed and did high fives. Every time. The couple beside me looked down at their daughter who was, at this point, sobbing into her best Sunday dress, having realized that she’d lost the elementary round.
“Take her for ice cream,” I told my new friend.
“Only if I can get beer, too,” he said grimly.
It’s true, I thought to myself. All the good ones really are taken.
On the way out, there was some sobbing—by the parents. One parent comforted a distraught mom by saying that, “It’s obvious that these judges had no clue what makes a good project at state!”
“Yeah,” I said. “No clue! They got no clue!”
“That’s right,” she said, sniffling a bit. “What was your project?”
I’m not proud of what happened next. Why couldn’t I have just been honest about the project that the Princesses had worked on for the better part of four weeks, taking breaks only long enough to talk for a few hours about how awesomely ripped Taylor Lautner is.
How could I fancy up this suddenly plain-Jane science fair project? I couldn’t just talk about chips and dip and then redipping and how it’s all icky and germy.
“Oh, my daughter and her friend tested the, uh, molecular structure, of the, uh, bacterium posterity of the random accelerated protein inhibitor, uh, rubric.”
I’ve discovered that if you put “rubric” in
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