Okay fine. It's ANNALS.

Normally I look forward to being the parent helper in Madeleine's preschool. It allows for a glimpse of her standing with her peers, her behavior in groups, her interests outside of our own toy box. This year has been slightly different because her teacher is a micromanager, hovering over my shoulder as I try to get Luke to cut a circle or to keep Charlie from gluing his arms to the table. She's always there. Always suggesting. In a super-soft, admonishing tone. As if I'm leading these young minds directly into purgatory by allowing them to write their names on the front of their paper-plate turkey faces.

Today I was already in the doghouse because I forgot my onion. Even though Julie was kind enough to run home to get one in less than 10 minutes, it was brought to my attention no less than 4 times that said onion was not there on time. I typically shrug and ignore. Shrug and ignore, shrug and ignore. That's what I do with hovering whispering people. But today we were making soup. Soup made from ingredients brought by each one of the 15 children. Soup that was made by vegetables cut by each one of the 15 children. With sharp knives provided by the hovering whispering teacher. Fuck.

At age 4 kids mostly want to do everything grown-upish by themselves, which includes stirring 10 gallons of boiling liquid and wielding super-sharp knives for cutting carrots. Carrots are not your most stationary vegetable, but only three kids were bleeding by the end of the day! I include this, as well as the fact that Hovering Whispering Teacher is not bleeding, two major successes of my Parent Helper Day. In fact, I was feeling pretty good about myself as I washed the 18 tiny red cups after snack according to the 18-step program I was made to memorize at the start of my day. Then, when the clock rung 12, Madeleine was in hysterics for no discernable reason, my hands reaked of onions and bleach, and I was apparently still on the permanent shitlist for the Onion Incident of 2006. The day in which Madeleine's Mommy Forgot the Onion. And three kids bled under her care. Today is the day Madeleine's mommy will go down in the preschool anals, catalogued under Shitty Parent Helpers. Anals? That can't be right...

Addendum: Today our house went off the market, and while I was Parent Helper the realtor came and took all of the material and data sheets off of our front table without telling me. Which meant the house was locked when I got home. I live in a Missoula suburb and don't even know where our front door key is. Madeleine had dog shit on her boots which I threw in the grass to be forgotten and cleaned next spring, so she was standing on our front porch crying with freezing feet and Quinn was trying to push her into the bushes for fun while I shimmied through a partially open basement window. The bright side? I'll get back to you...

Second Addendum: Just now I briefly edited this post and realized I've been neglecting this important part of writing. Which is funny, because in my other real-life writing I'm terribly anal about spelling and grammar. Isn't that hilarious?

Song of the Day: Save Me, Aimee Man (howling to this in the car makes me think Me Sing Pretty One Day)