We make good impressions on people...

Andre Agassi stopped by our house the other night...





Chocolate-banana crepes for breakfast!

If they aren't good impressions, they are at least memorable.  Take last Sunday, for instance.  I was sort of stuck between a rock and a hard place because there was an open house at a very good private school in this area.  We've been researching alternatives to the public school we are zoned for and we hit on this school.  We really wanted to go to this open house to get a better feel for the school, but as you may recall from an earlier post, F had to stay at work all weekend and the kids had those colds with the on/off again fevers.  Which made them grumpy.  As Jane Austen might have written if she'd had children, "It is a truth universally acknowledged that a mother in possession of children, must be in need of a nanny."  Or a decent nap for said children.  Especially when you have pressing social engagements that require your children to be well-behaved and good-natured.
Of course, it is also universally acknowledged that children seem to have a sixth sense for those times when their parents are most in need of their cooperation, patience and good will.  Just to show you that you are really not in control of much, they pick that day to revolt.  Well, maybe not all children do this, and perhaps if they do, it is merely coincidence and not a conspiracy, but I have a hard time there isn't some nefarious plot afoot in my household, at least.  First, L woke up at 5:15 am.  Then we slogged through a morning full of tantrums from kids who were sleep-deprived and disgruntled.  I tried to coax the wee ones into taking an early nap to no avail.  So, in the end, the kids slept for like 45 minutes (M) to an hour (A) when they usually sleep for 2 to 2 1/2 hours.  L doesn't really nap anymore.  You might think that common sense kicked in and I scrapped the whole plan.  Dear Reader, you know me better than that now, don't you?
Of course I forged ahead, armed with my insane optimism and my determination not to have a life not dictated by the bad moods/colds/lack of sleep of my offspring.  So, we went to the school and the first thing we see besides the friendly and overly helpful staff of the school is a huge snack table laden with heaps of sugary treats and delicate white paper napkins emblazoned with the school's logo fanned out prettily on a white table cloth.  L rushed towards it, managing only to snag one napkin before I collared him and hauled him back to the name-tag table.  Not being a total idiot, I attempted to extort good behavior from my kids with promises of brownies.
We were paired up with a quiet, well-behaved preschooler and her father for the tour (I don't know if I'm being overly dramatic, but he didn't seem too thrilled at sharing his experience with us)...and first stop, preschool room!  Quickly, the kids fanned out, playing with the plastic tools/workbench and the table filled with Styrofoam "popcorn" and various measuring cups.  As the teacher launches into an explanation of her curriculum, A announces she has to go to the bathroom.  I tried to get the boys to come with me to the bathroom, but they were too enthralled by the toys, so the tour guide (who was an 11th grade English teacher) offered to watch while I escorted A.  When we got back and the preschool teacher was talking about teaching methods, I noticed M quietly grunting by the Lego table.  Yep, you guessed it.  He crapped his pants.  Again, the other two children wouldn't come while I dragged him into the girl's bathroom to clean him up.  I ended up just tossing his underpants in the trash (I know, I know, this violates so many rules of proper bio hazard waste disposal, but I was under duress!), whipping out a clean pair, and hustling back to the preschool room.
We saw the first grade room and I attempted to have an intelligent conversation with the 1st grade teacher (I'm afraid I couldn't think of any relevant questions to ask) while A shrieked in the hallway, M tried to play with a ceramic penguin (thereby threatening its existence) and L went through the children's desks and pulled various bulletins off the walls.  I could tell it was time for us to leave. 
I really, really wanted to have some answers for F when I talked to him later, so I persisted, dragging them all into the lower school Principal's office to hear him explain their educational philosophy.  The other parents and their (quiet and calm) children sat in their chairs while mine played an obnoxious version of musical chairs until I picked up Anna and she noticed that I had a name tag, but she did not.  Tantrum!  I was sweating and thoroughly embarrassed and finally understood this was not the right time for us.
I tried to leave, muttering something about making an appointment for my husband to see the school at a later date.  They stopped me in the lobby and took me back to the secretary so that I could make the appointment that very day and that is when the real embarrassment took place. 
It should have been quick and easy.  I should have been able to fill out the info card quickly and nail down a date while my children waited patiently on the couch in the lady's office.  And it did start out relatively calmly....until L whipped out that damn paper napkin.  Anna saw it, Michael saw it.  It was as if he'd held up the Hope Diamond.  Cue the pummeling, kicking, wrestling, yelling, hair pulling battle for The Napkin.  Seriously, it happened over a Napkin.  A Napkin!!!!  (As a side note, I was struck by the thought that if human beings are willing to bludgeon their siblings with decorative pillows over a disposable, paper napkin, it might be reaching for the stars to assume there will ever be peace in the Middle East.  Of course in this case, the human beings involved aren't rational beings in the least.)  In case you are wondering, it is really difficult to think of anything else when your children are fighting in a school administrator's office.  I had trouble reciting my address and phone number.  I almost gave my maiden name.  I ended up barking out tersely that I would call later and that we had to go.
As I dragged the kids down the hallway (while Anna threw another fit because she wanted to drink from the water fountain & L kept trying to open the lockers we passed), I could feel my heart racing and my face flushing.  I hissed to L in that tone all mothers use while their offspring misbehave in public, "You think you're getting a brownie!  You must have lost your mind!"  Cue Tantrum Number Two.  The problem with trying to drag your kids out to the car in the winter time is that you do have to pause so that you can put all their winter coats back on them (although I considered picking A up like a football and lugging everyone out there without stopping).  There is no expedient getaway. 
The ladies in the lobby tried to help me as I dressed my howling children...in order to distract and calm him, one said to L, "Oh, sweetie!  Why don't you go get a treat from the table while Mommy gets your brother ready."  I saw L's little eyes widen as if he were a convict with a lifetime sentence and someone just suggested he may be paroled.  This is the quandary we all face at some point:  Do I stand firm and spark another hysterical and horribly embarrassing fit or do I give in to keep the peace so that I might walk out of this public place looking like a semi-credible parent?  I chose to stand firm.  So I said through clenched teeth as I was wrestling M into his coat (it was akin to to stuffing a squid into a sausage casing as he'd gone limp in protest), "Actually, he's not allowed to have a treat."  Immediately, Luke let out a loud, piercing wail that literally stopped everyone on that side of the building in their tracks.  Then he shouted, "YOU MADE ME MAD AT YOU, MOM!" And then he hit me.  Or rather, he wound up, then tapped me lightly on the forearm.  Which is aggressive for L.  Anna, realizing that she would not be getting chocolate either, joined in the ear-drum shattering screaming while throwing herself on the facedown on the floor in Sadness and Despair.
I can safely say that it was my most mortifying parenting moment.  In the end, I gritted my teeth and dragged the kids (literally) across the parking lot and roughly strapped them into their seats.  I wanted to crawl under a rock and hide.  And maybe not come back out.  Ever.  Or at least until they went to college.  We were all crying in that van that afternoon.  It was worse than when the kids have thrown horrible tantrums in a store because this is a school we may want Luke to attend.  And I doubt they'll ever forget us (well, at least not the secretary).  Which would be great if the thoughts she had while seeing us interact in her office were "Wow, what a loving family!" or, "What a precocious and sweet little boy!"  instead of, "What the hell is wrong with that mother! Why can't she control her children???"
I am sure she wasn't thinking those things(although it seems that so many people I meet in public DO have those thoughts and sometimes voice them impolitely to me) because she seemed very, very nice.  Perhaps she was sympathetic to me, I did get the impression she was compassionate (as was all the rest of the staff).  Maybe in this down economy, they can't alienate anyone who might opt to pay their tuition  as long as they pass the intellectual screening (even if their children behave like starving, wild monkeys let loose in a grocery store).  This week I received an informational letter from the school with a nice handwritten note from the secretary that didn't include any admonishing comments about the (mis)behavior of our dear children, so I suppose I can hope for the best on that one.
I had to write this down so that I wouldn't forget this particular episode (I am constantly forgetting things that were so humiliating and/or significant that I thought they'd be burned in my brain forever, proving either that I'm becoming prematurely senile or that childrearing destroys brain cells).  I'll have this record, in case I forget that the children once attempted to kill each other over a freaking napkin.  I'll let you know if we do apply and if L gets in.  Which I'm sure he will despite our showing at the open house.