Jedi Mama

Watch out.  Mama Bear is on the loose.

I've been so, so happy with Zoe's preschool.  Especially this past year in the Bunny Room.  Her teachers there were so extraordinarily fabulous on so many different levels that I have a feeling no other teachers in Zoe's academic career will ever hold a candle to them.

Since I recognize these feelings, I am wary of casting too many dispersions on her new teachers.  "I'm sure they are perfectly fine," I tell myself.  "They are normal teachers, which is good.  Good.  Fine.  Okay."

Only, I don't think they are.  Well, one, actually.

Let's call her Ms. Jabba, since I liken her to Jabba the Hut from the Star Wars movies.  She just sits there, in one spot, like a rock, not moving or interacting with the kids as they come in every morning.  While that bothers me, it's not really enough to launch a formal complaint or do more than whine about her to Zoe's BFF's mom, Carrie, who shares the same feelings.

One day last week, as I was dropping Zoe off, I noticed that Jabba wasn't in her usual chair.  She had actually moved (or been moved?) to a spot on the floor near the back of the classroom where she was so busy giving herself a pedicure (or something more disgusting involving her feet that I don't want to think about) that she didn't notice anything going on around her.  Several children were interacting in the book area nearby, and she couldn't have cared less.  Several more were in block area, and one was getting ready for breakfast with Ms. Lisa (who gets to keep her name since she appears to be a good teacher).  Jabba didn't look up, didn't say anything, just kept digging away at her foot.  Ewwww.

Then, Thursday, something happened that caused me to just about have a parental heart attack.  Here's my e-mail, ripped off to Carrie that evening.  It gives you an idea of my frame of mind.

So as I'm dropping off Zoe today at school, and she pushes me out the door, I pass Ms. Jabba going back into the room.  She's got a styrofoam cup in her hand FULL of white powder.  "Huh," I think to myself.  "That looks like sugar."  I quickly dismissed it and figured maybe she was getting creamer for her coffee or something.  Zoe bounded over to the table and sat down to eat her Cheerios.  As I was walking away, I heard Ms. Jabba announce, "Who wants sugar in their Cheerios?!"  I was running so late that I just beat it and thought, "No way.  No way did I just hear that."

Only tonight Zoe informs me that not only did she get sugar in her Cheerios (for the first time EVER, I might add), she got so much that there was a sludge in the bottom of the bowl that she ATE WITH HER SPOON.

I am so livid I could scream.  SCREAM.

Boatloads of sugar is definitely NOT on the menu at school.  Pretty sure that violates every nutritional standard set by the state and federal government.

Carrie, good friend that she is, responded with a like-minded dose of incredulity and horror. This is why I love her.  We agreed that the first step is talking to the Bear Room teachers and politely letting them know to please not send our kids on a sugar-rush first thing in the morning, thankyouverymuch.  Zoe bounces off the wall without sugar...she'll be stuck to the ceiling with it.

So Friday morning I went in and gamely approached Ms. Lillian (whom we like) about it.  I started by relaying Zoe's story of having so much sugar that she ate it with a spoon.  Ms. Lillian shook her head, "Oh, no.  I'm sure that didn't..." and I cut her off.  "Yeah, you see, the thing is..." and I told her what I saw/heard first-hand.  She was appalled, as she should be, and promised to check into it.  Okay.  Cool.

This morning Carrie and Kaitlyn pulled in as we were getting out of our car, so we all walked in together.  All three teachers were there.  Lillian and Lisa greeted parents and children, interacting and cheerfully starting the day.  Jabba sat at a table and, I am not kidding, addressed invitations to her child's birthday party.

Are you freakin' kidding me?  I'm paying you how much to ignore my child and do your personal stuff on work time?

Carrie and I said our goodbyes to our girls, gave smoochies and hugs, and walked out together.  We made small talk until we were around the corner, then exploded to each other.

"Did you see her?  She didn't even look up!"
"What was she doing?  Were those Spiderman birthday invitations for her kid?"
"There was no acknowledgement of us, the kids, nothing!"
"We just came off a friggin' weekend; she couldn't get those done on her own time?"

We analyzed the situation, and then we did what mothers do best.  We plotted.

I called M afterwards, on the way to work, and relayed the morning's events.

He said, "Oh, boy."

That "Oh, boy" relates to, variously:
"Dear God, what are my wife and Rob's wife going to do now?"
"We really need to have that friggin' barbecue so Rob and I can commiserate."
"Really?  The sugar rampage wasn't enough?  Oh, wait, we're on a different week now..."

I say we're just mama bears protecting our cubs.  Ms. Jabba better watch out or I swear I'll go all Jedi on her ass.