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Random Observations From The PTA Meeting



My feelings about the PTA are well documented on this here blog. I have not changed my opinion. I still steer clear. I have not been asked to contribute to the bake sale lately and I probably will not be approached until the current nazi- excuse me, president- is officially overthrown. Some schools seem to have a glorious PTA with truly wonderful people who all work together harmoniously without strife and petty backstabbing. My children do not attend one of those schools. This is the South. Everything you do, say, and wear is subject to judgement, gossip, whispers, and “bless her heart” comments. It should come as no surprise to any of you regular readers that I do not do well in such environments. Unfortunately I recently was conned into attending a PTA meeting. The way they did it was very sneaky, so sneaky in fact that I can almost appreciate the sneakiness. The flier that came home for the 3rd grade chorus program listed the start time as 6:30pm. What wasn’t listed was that it was a PTA meeting that began at 6:30 with the chorus program starting at 7pm. See, sneaky? So we showed up promptly at 6:15pm to get seats up front to avoid dealing with those parents that ruin every school program. 10 minutes later I was wishing we were late and sitting in the back. While I was tuning out some perky little blonde lady drone on and on about buying the correct hand sanitizer for the classrooms (seriously), I paid attention to the parents around me. 

Random Observations from the PTA:

1. Pretty sure the guy 2 rows over wasn’t drinking straight water out of that water bottle. Nobody looks that happy to be drinking water.

2. If you expose 3/4 of your butt every time you bend over, please buy bigger size pants. I’m begging you.

3. Naming your kid Leroy Luther virtually guarantees he will be a serial killer when he grows up. 

4. Handing your toddler a sharpie marker is never a good idea.

5. Sharpie marker does not wipe off of a nice leather Coach purse.

6. There will always be a kid sitting behind you kicking your seat.

7. Falling asleep and almost falling out of your chair will inspire giggles and snorts from everyone around you.

8. Snotty moms breed snotty little girls. 

9. Snotty little girls don’t like to be called out for being snotty.

10. Neither do their snotty moms.

11. I do not belong in the PTA. Duh.




The Reason I’m Banned from the Next Bake Sale

Have you ever put your foot in your mouth? Happens to me regularly. But how many times have you put a hand in a cake and a foot in your mouth all at the same time?  Now that takes talent, my friends!


I had the best of intentions. I really did. Then life got in the way, like it tends to do around my house. There were doctor’s appointments and sick kids. Time slipped past and suddenly the date was upon me. I only noticed because I happened to glance at the calendar on the way to the fridge for the coffee creamer. The bright red reminder jumped off the page, which was probably the reason I had written it in red to begin with.


Bake Sale Goods due today.


Crap on a cracker. Today. I was expected to produce 3 dozen homemade treats made entirely from scratch. Those treats were due at the school within the hour. And here I was without my magic wand. It’s moments like these that make me wish I was a witch like those chicks on Charmed. There are times that being magical would sure come in handy.


So what’s a mama to do? I couldn’t just show up at the school without the treats. That would draw the ire of the PTA President. We call her Hitler for a reason. Time to call in reinforcements. No, not the wine. A different kind of reinforcement. Commonly referred to as a Mom Friend but in my circles we refer to it as The Mommy Mafia. You know, the friends you have that know all the secrets– where the bodies are buried, how much you really paid for those shoes, what your real weight is, which purse is a knockoff, how many bottles of wine are actually in your recycling bin….those secrets. I called Jenna who laughed at my predicament because that’s what a true friend does. When she finally got ahold of herself, she informed me in a quiet whisper that “the crow flies at midnight” which I assumed meant she would meet me in the school parking lot in an hour.


I showed up with 8 minutes to spare and circled the parking lot until I saw Jenna’s minivan parked in the very back near the tree line. I had to park 3 rows over thanks to the abundance of people driving newer model luxury cars who assumed parking 2 miles from the school would keep their cars safe. I hurried over Jenna’s minivan, keeping low and moving quickly to avoid detection. I tapped twice on her window.


“You got the stuff?” I asked when she rolled the window down.


She passed me a brown paper bag through the window. “It’s all there. Now go.”


Relief coursed through me. I was giddy with it. I rushed back to my own minivan and hurriedly removed the contents from the brown paper bag. 36 beautiful, perfectly formed Double Chocolate Chip Cookies- still warm from the bakery. They were arranged nicely on a plate that could pass for one of my own.  If I didn’t know better even I would be fooled into thinking I slaved over these cookies for hours in my own kitchen.


I carried those cookies with pride through the parking lot and the hallway of the school towards the bake sale table. I handed them over to Hitler with a smile on my face and a glint in my eyes. An unspoken challenge was issued as she took the plate from my outstretched hand. I waited silently as she inspected my bake sale offering, checking to make sure it was up to her standards no doubt. Her eyes met mine again and I felt a surge of triumph. I smiled at her- not a real smile but one of those “please feel free to kiss my ass” smiles that you reserve for the most annoying people you are forced to interact with. Before I could turn to leave, basking in my victory, she began to unwrap the cellophane covering the cookies. All of a sudden, she stopped. And smiled. My blood froze in my veins.


“Well, well, well. Looks like someone was too busy to make her own cookies.”


Hitler held up the bakery sticker that had been attached to the underside of the plate. She was waving the sticker around in triumph like an Olympic swimmer holding a gold medal. Busted.


What else could I do but smile graciously, curse her name under my breath and walk away with my head held high. If only that’s what I’d done. I think you know me better than that. I snatched the plate of cookies out of her hand before I had time to think through my actions. Unfortunately she did not let go of the plate immediately and Hitler had some surprising strength in those little arms. I toppled forward and fought to regain my balance.


You know that moment when everything seems to freeze and things happen in slow motion? I had that moment. I knew what was going to happen, I could see the events occurring but I could not stop them. I lurched forward, off balance and out of control. My hip hit the table first, rocking it dangerously.


I could hear the words come out of my mouth in slow motion. “Ohhhhh Sshhhhiiiiittttt.”


My arms shot out to brace myself and landed smack in the middle of a cake. Frosting flew everywhere. Hitler had dropped the plate of counterfeit cookies in an attempt to rescue what I assumed was her own contribution to the bake sale.


Everyone stood in shocked silence. The three ladies behind the table were covered in frosting- coconut from the taste of what I licked off my own hands. The counterfeit cookies had landed in the middle of another cake, smearing the frosting everywhere. Mocha chocolate from the taste of what I licked off the cookies later.


Face hot with humiliation, I gathered my rogue cookies and mumbled a quick apology under my breath before scurrying towards the door like my pants were on fire. I ate 15 of those Double Chocolate Chip Cookies before I even got out of the parking lot to console myself.


On the bright side, I’m pretty sure I drove down the price of Hitler’s cake. What with my hand prints in it and all.


Sigh. I’m now banned from the bake sale.