Parent chaperone (to me, once we returned back to school after our field trip): “I always feel like teachers need a good, stiff drink after a field trip day.”
Me (laughing): “Aw, nah, we love field trips! It’s great to see the kids so excited!”
I am 3 drinks deep.
That moment when the parent of a student sends you and your co-teacher a rude, confrontational note in an envelope, but she accidentally also encloses the results of her gynecological exam.
She has Menorrhagia.
It’s characterized by a heavy menstrual flow.
Yeah. I googled it.
In case you’re wondering what this guy 
looks like in real life….
I’ve had this photo in my possession for 48 hours, and I literally cannot stop looking at it and laughing. I’ve made it the background of all my electronic devices and it has increased my quality of life by about 65%.
The look on my nephew’s face perfectly captures how every baby must feel about all the ridiculous shit we adults make them do.
If Auntie Em has her way (and I will, because I am relentless), a framed, poster-size copy of this photo will 100% be the centerpiece on every table at his Bar Mitzvah. So help me god.
#BoogerMcPorkpie #NeverDisappoints
“He just had to go number 2.”
— parent, explaining why her 4th grade son had a complete violent meltdown that endangered the safety of all those around him.
(Continuation of I Love Babysitting )
My parents asked me kindly not to write about this. That’s how I knew it was worth sharing.
This weekend my entire family (significant others and baby nephew included) rented a house in Southampton for a friend’s wedding.
When we arrived at the house, there was a moderately sized bottle of lube sitting on the kitchen counter.
A good ole bottle of 2-in-1 (massage AND play!).
Partially used.
My parents were the first to arrive at the house. Rather than move, hide, or throw out the lube, they chose to place a bag of cashews beside it.
Because that’s what you do when you see a random bottle of lube on your kitchen counter. You unpack your snacks.
(There’s a nut joke in here somewhere. Feel free to find it.)
Eric and I were the next to arrive at the house and encounter the lube. We could only assume it belonged to my parents, as they were the only people there before us. I’m not saying that either one of us was comfortable with this idea. We were not. We were very, very uncomfortable. Particularly Eric. He’s still sort of new here.
We didn’t have time to confirm the owners of the lube, however, because we were running late for the rehearsal dinner. So we shared a panicked and awkward “ohmygodohmygodohmygod” exchange and decided to never speak of it again. (Except during the entire car ride to dinner. And the walk from the car to dinner. And all of dinner.)
A few hours later, while Eric and I were at the dinner, Zack arrived at the house and immediately sent this to the sibling text chain:
Needless to say, Eric and I got a huge kick out of this. As did everyone at the rehearsal dinner– because naturally, I thought it’d be hilarious to pass my phone around and tell the story to everyone at my table. (Note: these were acquaintances. I did not know these people well at all. Well…now I do).
I also informed the bride. Clearly, hours before her wedding, it was something she needed to know.
When we got home that night I decided I needed confirmation, so I casually confronted my parents. They swore the lube was there when they arrived.
And you know what? I believe them. Mainly because that’s something my dad would totally admit to. But also because I want to be able to sleep at night.
So thank you to Ramona, our Airbnb renter, for leaving us that personalized housewarming gift. Unfortunately, since this was a wholesome family vacation (and the walls were super thin), we had no use for it.
Not wanting the thoughtful gift to go to waste, I did suggest it’d be fun to lube up the baby and watch him try to crawl across the hardwood floor.
No one agreed.
At the end of the weekend, we decided to leave the bottle of lube right where we found it. Because some other family should have the chance to see it, suspect one another, and die a little inside, just as we did.
We would never deny someone that opportunity.
We’re not monsters.
Just now, at dismissal…
Parent (to me and my co-teacher): “Just so you know, I did some thorough research on the two of you. I needed to know exactly who is taking care of my kid all day.” (pauses for dramatic effect) “I heard all VERY good things.”
Oh ok. So you’re very bad at research.
My dad used to be acquainted with O.J. Simpson. This was in the pre-Bronco days. They served on a board together, and became acquaintances (yes, I am carefully avoiding the word “friends,” because they weren’t friends. Also because O.J. does this thing where he murders people.)
The only reason this relationship is memorable is because one day, my dad decided to ask this cold-blooded killer for some parenting advice.
Dad: “Should I send my youngest kid to Winaukee, a 2-month sleep away camp, this summer? He’s only 5 years old.”
O.J.: “Absolutely! It’ll be the best summer of his life!”
So Dad sent him. Because O.J. SIMPSON IS FULL OF GREAT IDEAS!
Zack spent that entire summer crying in the infirmary. The camp nurse was his best friend. Occasionally he’d take a break from sobbing to ride a horse, which, at an all-boys camp, made him a huge weirdo. When Steph and I (who were at Robindel, the sister camp across the lake), would show up for visitation on Sundays, we’d find him shirtless, wearing one Teva sandal, and covered in a mix of dirt, weeks-old temporary tattoos, and general despair. Jeremy was at the camp with Zack and was supposed to be looking out for him but, in a shocking turn of events, no one ever knew where the fuck Jeremy was or what he was doing. But he sure as shit wasn’t looking after Zack. Which is ok, since, at 8 years old, he was probably too young to be at camp himself.
Bottom line– it was, without question, the worst summer of Zack’s life.
So the point here is this: I don’t care if you do or don’t believe that O.J. Simpson is a murderer– I have indisputable proof that he is, at the very least, a big fucking liar.
It’s a shame no one asked me to testify in court.
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