Good Things I'll Never Do Again

Eleven: Kindergarten-pocalypse

"We are all here on earth to help others; what on earth the others are here for I don't know."

~W.H. Auden

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Miss Rudy's kindergarten class is one runny nose away from being a literal hell.

And not just because of the kids (who smell like grape body wash).

There are parents here too.

Parents who are making it look like the kids are the ones not wanting them to leave, when, in actuality, they keep turning around and giving them "advice" or "encouragement" or "their lunch".

To be fair, there are definitely a few kids who are about to have a seizure at the thought of their parents leaving.

The classroom is decorated with plastic animals and leaves and trees, making it look like a jungle. There's a "reading loft" in the corner, which looks perfect for sneaking a nap, and a sign hanging over the coat closet that says "Mistakes Are Proof That You're Trying!".

Miss Rudy better try harder because this whole thing looks like a mistake to me.

"Moooooom!" A little girl is being dragged across the floor as she clings to her mom's pant leg. "Nooooo!"

I spot one boy hop up on top of a desk and begin beating his chest, shouting at the top of his lungs. "I'm a gorilla!"

A mom nearby turns around and asks him to get down, but another mom stops her. "Hey! My son is living his truth, back off!"

And that is my cue to leave.

I slowly go to back out of the room, but a small child steps in my way.

"Are you the teacher?" he asks, staring up at me with his gap-toothed mouth hanging open. Pop-Tart crumbs are still stuck to his cheeks.

"No," I say, and try to move past him, but he tugs on my shirt.

"Then why do you have a tag?" He points to the strap of my hideous overalls, where a PTO sticker is attached.

"Because that's what they give people who come into the school. Now move along, kid."

"No!" he shouts, but then giggles. Is he playing some kind of game?

"Yes!" I shout back.

"No!"

"Yes!" I frown. What am I doing arguing with a 5-year-old? "Just move!"

"No!"

"Is there a problem?" a cheery voice asks.

I turn to see a woman—probably in her early twenties—coming up to us. "I'm Miss Rudy."

I glare at the boy. "No. Nothing's wrong."

"Are you Blake's mom?" Miss Rudy asks, patting the boy's shoulder.

My jaw drops. "Do I look old enough to be his mom?"

A blush rises to Miss Rudy's cheek. "I mean, well, he's only five!"

"She's my mom!" Blake announces with another laugh.

I gasp. "Now listen here you little mother—" I glance at Miss Rudy and finish by saying, "loving little angel." I reach out and pinch his cheek, but give him a glare. "You're such a jokester."

A grin spreads across his face. He knows exactly what he did. The monster.

I straighten. "I'm not his mom. I'm here to—" I'm interrupted by a mother screaming at her daughter to stop throwing books at the class hamster. "I just joined—"