Proving He's Serious About This

Ariel: "Mommy?"
Me: "Yes?"
Ariel: "How are you a Mommy?"
Me (tired): "Well, I'm just a Mommy. Your mommy."
Ariel: "But how?"

Hmm.

Me: "Well, one day, I had two little boys. One named Elan - "
Ariel, nodding: "...And one named Batman."

Apparently, They've Changed the Rules

"Hiiiii.....Is this Elan's mommy?"

"Yes? Is everything okay?"

The last time I got a phone call from the school, Elan's forearm had split in half.

"Well, yes, sort of. This is Elan's teeea-cher."

Well, THANK you for enunciating that so carefully, because not only did I have no idea who you were from the combination of Caller ID and having spoken to you every morning for the past five months, but I've ALSO never heard the word 'teacher' before in my life.

"Hi."

"Hiiiiii, Elan's Mommy. So! The problem is, you sent your son to school with a - gun!"

Wait - that's not okay anymore?

No, but seriously. I'm not exactly PTA material, granted. But I'm also not terribly in favor of four-year-old to four-year-old use of lethal force.* Did she have to put it quite like that?

I roll my eyes, silently cursing traffic. "Look. It's not exactly a gun..."

"Well, it looks like a gun, it's shaped like a gun. And the school sent home a letter at the beginning of the year saying that kids can't bring any guns, knives, or anything violent to school."

Crap. They're anti-knife, too? How's a kid supposed to get seconds on apple juice at snack time these days?

"And on top of that, I sent home a letter saying the same thing specifically about my classroom. You need to read the letters! Now he can't use it for Sharing Day, he can't share it at all, I have to put it on a shelf somewhere. He's very upset. Where are you? Can you come back?"

"It's from Disneyland! It's from Pirates of the Caribbean! All it does is light up an emblem, like the Batman signal in the sky? It doesn't even make a shooting noise. I mean, come on. I wouldn't send him with a gun-gun, I wouldn't buy one!"

"Yes, I'm sure, " It's obvious she doesn't believe me. "Well, nonetheless, it's school policy -" she drops her heavily-accented voice a little here, rubbing in the salt, "- and, on a personal note, one I happen to agree with - but I even checked in the front office to see, and they agreed that it is definitely not okay."

And to think, she doesn't even KNOW about the matches and lighter fluid I leave lying around on the days parenting gets particularly boring. But did she have to tell the office staff? Who already look at me like I'm from another planet? Terrif.

I sigh. I probably won't win any awards for decision-making today. In my defense, though, Elan had been extremely melodramatic about which toy to bring for Sharing Day that morning ("I JUST CAN'T 'ECIDE, THEY ARE ALL SOOOO COOL!!!"), and in an effort to get out of the house before noon, I made him hurry up and grab anything. And I really hadn't thought all that much about what it was that he chose.

Until I noticed him clutching it in the pocket of his Mickey Mouse hoodie, his finger on the fake trigger with only the handle sticking out, as we had walked into school. Then, I admit, I whispered that he should hold it differently.

"Is he crying?" I whisper, horrified that my child might be suffering from my own carelessness.

"Well, no. But he's sad. Can you come back?"

"No, I can't. I'm on the canyon, half-way to work already."

"Well, I tried calling you four times..."

"My cell phone? This is the first time it's rung."

"Well, no. I called you at home."

"Well I'm not home during the day. I have to work."

I don't say this word nicely. I try, in fact, to match the condescension in her tone, to confuse her somehow, to - for reasons incomprehensible - turn the tables.

It doesn't work. She laughs rudely. "Yes, I know what that's like. Well. I guess I'll have to figure this out."

She had a point. Her job was to watch my kid while I went to my job. And he was bearing weapons.

"He'll be fine," I say honestly, knowing how Elan works, knowing that if he wasn't crying, this wouldn't break him OR his spirit.

"All right. I just wanted to make sure that you understood -"

I'm finished with this now. I cut her off: "I understand. No guns. Won't happen again." Click.

I dial Y, mortified and defensive: "I knew we shouldn't have let him get that toy!"

"Margo. Why didn't you just suggest she shut up and focus on not letting any of our child's limbs break under her care today?"

"Damn you. You always have the best lines."

"Don't sweat it."

That afternoon, I hug Elan tightly when I get home. "Are you okay?" I squeal. "Are you mad at me? I'm so sorry I let you take that toy, I should have known she wouldn't have liked it. It's my fault. I'm a terrible mother!"

Elan pulls away and looks at me, bemused. "What? No you're not. You're a great mommy. I'm fine, I didn't care, and she gave it back to me when I went home! It's okay!" And he runs off to place his souvenir from The Happiest Place on Earth among the teddy bears in his bedroom.

I let out my breath, start sorting the mail, and hit the Play button on the answering machine. I'm over it - ready to forget the whole thing, to molt the yucky skin of embarrassment, to relax and rebound over the weekend.

"Hiiiiiiii...." an all-too familiar, heavily-accented voice drawls patronizingly from the speakers. "I hope I have the right num-berrrr, I'm looking for Elan's Mommy...? It seems you sent your son to school with a GUN!..."

I press Skip.

She could have at least looked up my first name.


[*Unless it's for that brat who bites.]

The Protege

It's 7 PM on a weeknight, and the boys and I are in pajamas, on the floor in Ariel's room, making our way through a large stack of thoughtfully-selected reading material. Ariel had voted for dinosaurs that night and Elan had reluctantly agreed.

Reluctantly, because, you know, he is SO over dinosaurs. He's been for, like, a year now. But he'd indulge his younger brother, if only, apparently, to find out where the latter was holding in terms of basic development.

Like most nights, Elan took charge of our quality time, laying out the rules:

"Okay, Mommy. You don't read any'hing until I point to it. First, I'll point to the different dinosaurs and I'll ask Ariel what they are. And he will have to see if he gets it right. And then, if we want to know what else it says about them, I'll ask you to read it. Got it?"

"Yes, got it," I say. He looks at Ariel expectantly. Ariel nods an affirmative. He gets it too.

Elan opens the first book and points to a picture. "This is an easy one. Ariel, what is this?"

" Dat's a Tiwannasauwus Wex."

"Good job!" Elan high-fives him. Ariel beams.

"Now, what's this one?"

"A Long-Neck!" Thank you, The Land Before Time, Volume XI.

"Great! This?"

"Stegasauwus."

"And this?"

"Twicewatops!"

"Very good. And this?"

It's a hard one. Ariel furrows his little brow. "Hmmmm."

Elan offers help: "Veloci..."

"Waptor!" Ariel yells. Elan's ecstatic. "You're very good!"

Hold up. Ariel just got 'Velociraptor?' How the hell does he know that? And what else does he know?

Elan continues his lesson. "This one is a..."

"Ptewanadon!" Ariel replies, jamming a fist into the air in victory.

"Pteranadon? Are you kidding me?" I can't help myself. "How does Ariel know these?"

"I teach him," Elan says simply.

I'm starting to understand that this isn't the first time the two of them have played this game. They knock off a few more, including Dilaphosaurus, Anklysaurus, and Dimetrodon.

Elan points to the 3-D spikes on a Stegasaurus's back in one book. "Feel, Ariel. Aren't these prickly?"

"Yes, like thorns," Ariel replies knowingly. You see, we have a backyard now. With rosebushes.

Finally, Elan closes the book and throws his arm around a delighted Ariel.

"I am so, so proud of you!" he cries. "You did great! You know so much, you smarty pants!"

Ariel concentrates on hugging back with all of his might, smiling so hard I fear his face will crack. His eyes are closed. He OWNS this moment, and he's going to let Elan's momentary burst of affection seep into every pore. He'll never let go first.

Eventually, Elan loosens his grip, sighing appreciatively. And Ariel proves that he's learned another thing or two from his big brother when he finally speaks:

"You're so pwoud, so wull you give me a candy?"

Hey, if it works on Daddy...