Vaulting To Obscene Conclusions

I got a very concerning call today. My son, my fourth child, my baby, my wild at heart and not afraid to show it kid... well, he's in preK now. And this mama was happy - is happy - isn't as happy as she could be... Let me preface this story by telling you that yesterday his brand new PAW Patrol nap mat came in and he just couldn't wait to take it to school this morning. He shoved it in his happy monster backpack and skipped happily into school.

Around 3pm today his teacher calls. I was at work so I missed the first few tries but immediately called her back when I got a moment.

"Hi, I missed a call..."

"Oh, yes, is this Levi's mom?"

"Yes... is everything okay?"

"Well... hum... were you aware *snark* that Levi has feces in his backpack?"

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Feces. You know. *hushed* Poop."

"No, I heard what you said, just... what? I mean, are you sure? And no... of course I had no idea."

"Yes, well, we pulled his nap mat out of his backpack and there is feces all in the bottom. It's smeared all over everything."

*raging* "I just can't understand how something like this could have happened. I mean, *gah* this is absolutely maddening and I don't even know what to tell you. I'll replace his folder and wash everything."

"Well, we have codes and regulations and everything has to be thrown away."

"Thrown away? No... that nap mat literally came in the mail yesterday morning. I JUST ordered it off of Amazon."

"I know.. he was so excited when he pulled it out. He told me all about his new nap mat. But, it's a health hazard and we can't have it in the classroom. I have his backpack balled up in a trash bag by the door. And he HAS to have a sheet on his mattress. He can't be sleeping on a mattress with no blanket because we could get fined... you could get fined. I mean, since he's your kid..."

"Are you freakin kidding me? I sent him to school with a brand new nap mat..."

"Well, there's feces on it and he can't have it in the school..."

"I need you to send it all home for me to wash..."

"He needs a new backpack and blanket... they really need to be thrown away... do you have another..."

"I mean, I can look for another backpack but he loves his monster one and I'd really like to see if I can wash it. And that mat is BRAND NEW. I'm not throwing it away. Are you SURE it's poop??"

"Well, it's brown and it smells and, well, yes... it's poop"

"I just don't even know how this could have happened *insert rant about having been a stay at home mom and how I've never in 17 years of kids ever dealt with this and this is the first time since I started back to work in January that I've felt serious guilt about not being there for my kid...*

"Well, I asked him if his pets play in his backpack or if he defecated in his backpack..."

"I can't even imagine that being the case... I mean, I'll get to the bottom of it and I'm going to have some very intense conversations with the people in my house but I'm just so angry that I could punch a wall."

"Well, kids do strange things... it's a new experience and they often have accidents and occasional bad days..."

"I get that, but when's the last time you had a kid bring a backpack of shit to school?"

*crickets* "Uhm..."

"Yeah. Exactly. This is a huge issue and I need to figure out whats going on."

"Well, ma'am, don't let this phone call ruin your day... it's just a courtesy to let you know that there was an issue."

"So you'll send his stuff home?"

*sigh* "He will have to keep it in the trash bag but yes... if that's what you want... but you'll have to send a different backpack and blanket tomorrow."

End call.

I'm livid. Like, crying hot tears of "what the hell could possibly be going on with my 4 year old son that he takes a shit in his backpack" livid. I'm plotting to cover up the murders of anyone responsible for watching my son in the last 48 hours. I'm trying to get my brain around the potential scenarios in which this is even a - thing. Did he zip a cat up in his backpack overnight? (Strangely, the most likely option...) Did he just say "yeah, I think I'll drop a load right here in my backpack."? Did Sophie play a malicious trick on him after walking Frankie? (*mwahaha see if little brother pulls my hair after THIS...) No matter how you slice it, I've got a problem on my hands and 30 minutes before I get off work so I can start sleuthing.

5 minutes later... *ring ring*

"Hello?"

"Hi, Ms Binkley? This is Ms. X, Ms C's assistant..."

"Yes...?"

"Uhm... I'm just calling to tell you that, uh, I checked again because Ms C said 'are you sure, because this mama is really upset about this...' so I took it down to the custodian for a second opinion and we don't think it's poop...'

"really..."

"Well, he said that it looks like a piece of food or fruit. But he said it's definitely not poop."

Then it hits me. "It's an orange."

"Yeah, he said it's an orange."

"No, I know it's an orange. It must've gotten squished in his backpack when he tried to shove that whole nap mat in. I saw an orange in there at the end of last week and it must've not ever made it out."

"Yeah, now, his stuff still needs to be cleaned, but I'm glad you didn't want it thrown out..."

"That makes so much more sense... thank you for calling because I was about to have some unkind words to say to some folks."

Fast forward to my son getting off the bus:

"Hey, baby boy! How was school?"

"Good... 'cept my teacher said I pooped in my backpack and we have to throw everything away. I'm sorry, mama... I really liked my new PAW Patrol nap mat..."

It's now that my blood begins to boil over again... *deep breaths*

So I left this all alone while we ate pizza and watched a movie. Then my first load of laundry finished and I went to open this *just rank enough to pass for poop* backpack. I'm expecting some beyond gone piece of citrus, something that was so unidentifiable that a teacher felt the need to call me and just, ya know, check to see if I was aware that I had sent my kid trotting off to school with Mr Hankey in tow.

This is what I found:

A. Fucking. Smooshed. Orange.

I'm seething.

It even smells like an orange. An orange of questionable ripeness, but an orange all the same.

So here I was, 3 hours earlier, considering the implications of my beautiful, bouncy boy being in need of some serious mental evaluation... and then I realize... My son was TOLD by the TEACHER that he pooped in his backpack and had to throw away his beloved monster backpack and brand new nap mat that he chose on Amazon and waited for and couldn't contain his love and excitement for when in reality, he's a 4 year old who snuck a clementine and didn't quite grasp the concept of what happens when you sit on it. My happy baby doesn't understand why she told him he pooped in his backpack because "mahmah I wouldn' do dat. I lub my backpack!" He's been made to think he did something really wrong and even after they realized their mistake, they didn't correct it with my son. If I hadn't been so upset, they would've thrown out his stuff without a second thought. They would have kept it in the record that there was poop in his bag. There is so much wrong with this that I have a headache.

So here I sit now... 

Gathering my thoughts to compose a saccharine yet very pointed email to the teacher who decided that this - this orange squish with peel intact - must be poop. And felt the need to question my awareness of it... as if I would say "oh, yeah, he's named it and all so I figured it'd be alright for lil lug nut to share with his friends... that silly kid... always poopin' in stuff... har de har..."

17 years. over 20 schools. 2 countries. 3 states. And I have never. never. never been made to feel like such an absent parent. And all because they can't be bothered to move the damn folder and see things for what they clearly are.

Moral of this story: When making harsh accusations with steep consequences... triple check.

And don't let your grade schooler take squishable fruit to school.

Hi, haters!

Hi, everyone!! Yeah, I know... it's been a while since I've blogged on this side of things. I guess I finally just felt that pull to say something.

That something is this:

Yep. That.

See, I've started working again. Some of you know that, some of you may have no clue what has been going on in my life. Either way, all you really need to know is that I've been at this particular job for about 7 months now. And I love it. (I'm also really, really good at it.) In all honesty, I feel a sort of commitment to this company because they gave me a chance. After being a stay at home mom for 8 years, people pretty much blew me off. But not them. Nope. They said "do you have management experience?" I said "no..." and they replied "staying at home with 4 kids for 8 years definitely qualifies as management experience." So here I am, slayin' the retail game because I've been given the opportunity to show 'em what I'm made of. And, man. I'm made of good stuff.

But when you come into the game and show up the veteran players, not everyone is going to be thrilled with you. And, well, that's exactly how this blog comes to be.

I have this co-worker - let's call her "V" (ha! It's funny).  V doesn't like me. Why not, you ask? Well... maybe because: My numbers are better. Colleagues like me better. Customers like me better. I'm a pleasure to be around at work. She constantly hears compliments about me. My name is consistently showing up in district shout outs. And, well, she pretty much sucks at her job. She didn't speak to me for 4 hours because my boyfriend hugged and kissed me goodbye before work. She doesn't have the best relationship... and my kissing a Puerto Rican makes it hard for her claim that I'm racist (because she's Puerto Rican) to stick.

So V likes to assert her authority by doing anything in her power to make me look bad. Writing petty notes. Sending petty emails. Setting me up (and failing miserably). Talking trash about me to customers and other management teams. She exerts so much time and energy trying to throw me under the bus that she has nothing left to put toward things that really matter. Thing is, higher ups still love me and my numbers keep rising.

Because:

And she's over here like:

And I'm all:

And she's all:

And then I'm all:

Because the best way to deal with haters is to just do you. After all... isn't that what's getting all the attention? I guess the reason for this narrated pictorial is that I know there are other people on the verge of losing it on a co-worker and hoping "crime of passion" sticks. To you I say, "just breathe". No one can fight without an opponent and I refuse to be her sparring partner, just as you should rise above the pettiness of your own "V". Some people insist on making sure they keep on throwing out that noose rope... some people insist on weaving it from scratch. But you just let them hang themselves. No reason why you should end up with rope burn.

In the end:

So remember:

And I'm focused on gold.

Y'all have a great night... and don't let the haters drag you down. Keep right on smiling and give them one more thing to hate about their miserable existence.