Kid Politics

         Parents are idiots.  You can get angry if you want, but it won’t make me wrong.  Furthermore, I can make this statement without being stoned (that’s right lady, put down that jagged, concussion-inducing rock) because I am a parent, and by extension I am an idiot.  How sound is this inference?  Think back to your SATs.  Do you remember the verbal questions that made your brain hurt, quiver, and attempt to escape out of your ear?  The ones that went something like: All glorks are snorkits, and all snorkits are blitkars.  True or False—based on this information all glorks are blitkars.  Now, replace glorks with parents and blitkars with idiots.  That’s how true my thesis is.
         I, in my erstwhile brilliance (or sheer stupidity—your call) decided that I would throw a party for my daughter’s friends the weekend before school started back.  What should have been a simple and friendly celebration (of, let’s be honest, moms having free time again), degenerated into a free-for-all, my kid is tri-lingual and will be featured in My Child Is Better Than Your Child Magazine (don’t try to subscribe, people, it is merely a fictional title used to creatively establish a point.  Sheesh.)  Because you do not know me, I could pretend I took the moral highroad and refused to be drawn into this type of petty one-upmanship.  This would be a lie.  I not only fell into taking part, I tied a two ton anchor to my foot and smiled happily as I jumped dead center.  You think me evil?  Then you are a hypocrite.  You’ve done it, too.  Are you saying you haven’t?  Now, you’re a liar.
         In every class there are the “it” kids.  The ones who everyone plays up to and tries to emulate.  These kids not only set the trends, but they can—in the space of a single class period—put a screeching halt to ones that have caught on with the “masses.”  They are dressed, coiffed, polished, and tutored into being Stepford kids.  Somehow, my darling child has fallen into the “it” crowd.  On top of this, I have been cursed—and I really don’t know what I ever did to deserve this—to have my child be in the same class as my high school best friend/bitter rival.  If you do not see how these two vastly opposite positions can be filled by the same person in one’s life, you have clearly never been a girl in high school.  In other ironic news of the your-life-bites variety, my daughter and her son are the very best of friends.  Isn’t that just kicked-in-the-face-with-a-stiletto great?
         So, on this particular evening, all of the darling children and their slightly less than darling mothers descended on my house like a plague of well-dressed and impeccably groomed locusts.  You may think that I’m exaggerating, but a dark cloud fell over my home, the winds became silent, and my cat began to make scary keening noises.  They were coming, and they were superior (just ask them.)  The doorbell rang, I looked outside to see a fleet of mini-vans and SUVs parked in front of my house, and opened the door to my fellow PTA-ers and their spawn.
         The first few hours passed pleasantly enough.  We watched our children, noting who had grown and who was looking more and more like some member of their family (there was one particular woman who mentioned no less that five thousand times that her little Kiki was the spitting image of her husband; this is patently untrue.  Kiki is the spitting image of someone else entirely…and that must have been one hell of a Christmas bonus.)  But, that is hardly the point.  As the kids sat around, far too cool to deign to notice the women who had given them life, we spoke about mortgage rates, new chicken recipes, and what sports and activities our kids were going to be involved in.  However, from the first second, it had been brewing and after about two hours, the storm broke.
         Maggie, whose hair should have been the consistency of steel wool, but was saved by weekly hot oil conditioning treatments, spoke up first.  “Megan is really doing well with her German translations.  I swear, sometimes I think she must be the most lingual child in the school!”
         Sarah piped up next, smoothing non-existent lint from her well-cut black pants, “I know what you mean, Trevor never ceases to amaze me with this ability to work complex math problems right in his little head.  I see a Nobel Prize in his future!”
         Beth, a.k.a. the aforementioned thorn in my side dating all the way back to high school, looked directly at me and smirked, “Yes, and Jax is simply light years ahead of his closest friends in all the important areas.  We’ve been blessed.”
         I really didn’t want to sink to her level, so I answered, “Yes, Jax is a very smart boy.  Though, I think Kendall can keep up with most of her peers.” 
         “Darling,” Beth replied, “There is no sense in telling our children things just to make them feel better, and the same goes for the things we tell ourselves.”
         I tried so hard to simply smile and reply with the utmost grace.  I truly did not want to—oops, spilled my tea in her lap.  With a shriek and a snarl, Beth came off the couch as though someone had told her that her hair was beginning to frizz.  She stalked across the room, grabbed Jax by the hand, and slammed out of the house. 
         Of course, because I was the one left, Maggie and Sarah cooed their support at me—through the same lips they would be running at hyper speed listing all my faults to Beth later.  I could tolerate most anything, but insulting my child in my presence was nearly as safe as poking a rabid tiger with a sharp stick. 
         Now, before you start thinking of me as a horrible person who destroyed her daughter’s closest friendship because I was annoyed, please understand that Beth was only getting started.  Before the end of the night, she would have trounced all over everyone’s feelings in a bid to make Jax seem so much better than all of our other adorable kids.  I was nipping it in the bud.
         Believe it or not, the party went really well.  The kids, who paid no attention to what was going on, had a great time.  Before the night was over, Beth and I had made our apologies—once we calmed down a bit.  But, this does not detract from the fact that parents can be complete idiots in the power-play of kid politics.
         Damn…if it’s this bad this year, I dread first grade!