People I Want to Punch in the Throat (12 page)

The rumor around the carpool line was the principal didn’t know which class to put her in, because so many parents were upset with Agnes and they demanded that she not be in their child’s class. I didn’t even know you could do such a thing—those parents with older kids always know the loopholes. Now my kid was stuck with her!

It was awkward, though, because everyone loves Agnes’s mom. With her witty sense of humor and friendly personality, she’s a favorite at her neighborhood Moms’ Night Out or her exclusive invitation-only book club. Everyone—myself included—wanted to be her friend.

“Well, maybe she’s not so bad,” I said hopefully, trying not to think about Sally’s prematurely lost tooth and my name lingering on the wait list for Agnes’s mother’s book club.

“She—and her mother—have everyone snowed. She’s the first to volunteer at any classroom party to bring a healthy snack that the kids will actually eat. She’s always got great ideas for a game or a craft to keep them occupied during the party. She’s happy to volunteer whenever you need her. Librarian needs help reshelving books? She’s on it. Reading specialist needs someone to listen to the kids read out loud? No problem. Janitor needs help cleaning the urinals? It’s not something she’s used to doing, but she’s happy to help! And don’t forget: that kid accused you of stranger danger. That’s a big deal around here.”

Oh yeah. What
was
that all about? What the hell, Agnes? That shit is serious, kid. This was my first year in the school; can you imagine what would happen to me if
that
story got started? With a stranger danger strike against me, I’d never get to be a room mom.

“She’s a little shit. She pushes their buttons. Watch out for
her,” Sandy advised me. “The upside, though, is if Agnes beats up your kid, you get a nice gift. I love my planter.”

Soon after Zara started at her new school, Sandy told me, a planter and a gift basket arrived on Sandy’s porch. They were from Agnes’s mom. The basket was full of all kinds of cool shit that Sandy would never buy herself and a gift card for a massage. It’s kind of Agnes’s mom’s MO. She never admits her guilt, but the gift basket is a kind of apology for when Agnes hurts your kid. Everyone knows it. Just about every house on Sandy’s block has a beautiful planter on the porch. One neighbor even has a new cherry tree, because Agnes chopped hers down on President’s Day after she studied George Washington. “She has such a love of American history!” was what her mother said as she wrote the check for the tree.

From that day forward I started to keep an eye on Agnes, just like Sandy had suggested.

I didn’t see much out of the ordinary. She pulled a lot of Eddie Haskell shit when I worked in the classroom: “You look very nice today, ma’am.” “Thank you for volunteering in our classroom today.” “I’m so happy you’re here today!”

I wanted to say,
Cut the crap, kid. I’m a tired thirty-seven-year-old woman in mom jeans. Even my husband doesn’t think I look nice today
.

Although Agnes was smarmy and seemed poised to have an excellent career in sales and/or politics, I had never witnessed her being violent, so it did surprise me when Gomer said Agnes had “attacked” him. Maybe Gomer felt attacked by Agnes’s bullshit. I know I did.

“What did Agnes do to you?” I asked Gomer.

“I told you. She attacked me,” Gomer sniffled.

“But
how
did she attack you? Did she bite you?” I asked, thinking of Zara.

“She punches me at recess. She does it when the teachers aren’t looking.”

“Well, did you tell your teacher?”

“No! I can’t! Agnes says, ‘Snitches get stitches.’ That means if you tattle you get hit harder.”

WTF, where did that come from? Agnes didn’t get that from Nickelodeon
. “Yes, I know what that means.”

“Well, I didn’t. I had to ask Agnes, and she punched me again while she told me. Just like she does every day!”

Every day, and I was just now hearing about this?

Now, at this point you might think I’m a terrible mother, because I’m not freaking out and calling the school and Agnes’s mother and filing a restraining order against the little asshole. But you must understand: Gomer has an overactive imagination. Oh, screw it, let’s be honest—Gomer can be a big fat liar.

You must proceed with extreme caution when Gomer tells you a story about school, because you’re never quite sure if it’s true or not. I’ve been burned a few times now by flying off the handle and assuming that my precious baby was telling me the God’s honest truth, only to find out he’d pieced together several episodes of
Wonder Pets
and
The Backyardigans
to create his epic tale of woe. (This should probably be a lesson for me to pay more attention to what he’s watching on TV, but then what’s the point of plopping him in front of the TV to use it as a babysitter if I have to sit there, too? Duh.)

Honestly, if Sandy hadn’t told me to keep an eye on Agnes, I probably would have called Gomer a liar and said goodnight. But I’d seen the stitches on that snitch Zara.

“Okay, Gomer. Don’t worry. Daddy and I will take care of it.”

I tucked him in and then went downstairs to figure out what to do.

I was hesitant to contact Agnes’s mother, because it could easily spiral out of control and I can only imagine how that conversation might go:

Jen:
Hi, this is Jen, Gomer’s mom. Listen, I was talking to Gomer tonight and he mentioned that Agnes has been punching him several times a day.

Agnes’s mom:
Oh, Jen, I’m actually glad you called.

Jen:
You are? Great. I’d love to get this worked out between the two of us so they could be friends. [To myself I’m saying,
I am a parenting genius! In a year, when we’re all best friends, we’re going to laugh about this story
.]

Agnes’s mom:
Yes, I’m glad you called, because I’ve been hesitant to contact you. Apparently Gomer has taught Agnes the word “fuck” and now we can’t stop her from using it all the time.

Jen:
Wait. What? I’m shocked. Gomer doesn’t even know that word.

Agnes’s mom:
Well, of course he does. He taught it to Agnes.

Jen:
No, I’m sure he didn’t.

Agnes’s mom:
Look, I’ve read your blog, and I know you use that word
allll
the time. [
Okay
, I think,
we are not going to laugh about this story
.]

Jen:
Yeah, but—

Agnes’s mom:
I realize you think it’s funny for a six-year-old to say “fuck,” but I really don’t.

Jen:
Hold on. I don’t think that’s funny. Honestly, I don’t use that kind of language in front of my kids. I really don’t.

Agnes’s mom:
Look, I try not to judge other people’s parenting, but I would have to say you are really terrible at it. You use that word all the time, and you probably use it when you’re talking to Gomer.

Jen:
I do not!

Agnes’s mom:
Like I said, I have no idea. I really don’t care. It’s none of my business what goes on in your house. All I know is that Gomer taught it to Agnes, along with all of its proper uses. She got kicked out of Sunday school last week for telling her teacher to “fuck off.” That is unacceptable behavior in
this
house.

Jen:
Of course it is. But are you sure it was Gomer? It just doesn’t sound like him.

Agnes’s mom:
Oh, but Agnes strikes you as a child who punches people? I’ve never had a complaint about Agnes’s behavior. Until she learned the
f
-word from
your
son.

Jen:
My son doesn’t know that word! And yes, Agnes
does
strike me as the sort of child who punches people. My husband went to the school during recess and he saw Agnes punch Gomer.

Agnes’s mom:
Your husband—a grown man—took off time from work to go to the school in the middle of the day to spy on children? What sort of creeper does that?

Jen:
He’s not a creeper!

Agnes’s mom:
Did he have permission to be on school property?

Jen:
He drove over and watched from his car. And he saw—

Agnes’s mom:
Like some deranged Peeping Tom!

Jen:
He saw your juvenile delinquent punch Gomer!

Agnes’s mom:
You know, I wasn’t even going to call you—
but you’ve got a lot of nerve, lady, calling me up to complain about
my
daughter when your
husband
is up at the school intimidating and scaring a little girl.

Jen:
My husband didn’t go near your daughter. He just watched to see if Gomer was telling the truth.

Agnes’s mom:
Oh!
So you thought maybe Gomer had made up the whole story about Agnes? That’s interesting. Let’s see if I can get this straight: you think your child
is
a liar, but he
doesn’t
know the
f
-word? You live in a bubble!

Jen:
This is getting ridiculous. I called you because Agnes has been punching Gomer and we’d like it to stop or else I’m going to speak with the principal.

Agnes’s mom:
Well, I’m going to have to speak to the principal about Gomer’s language and your husband’s disgusting behavior! That is stranger danger! We take that very seriously at our school!

Jen:
My son doesn’t know that word and my husband did nothing wrong! It’s your kid who is the problem here.

Agnes’s mom:
My kid? My daughter has been banned from her Sunday school and now her
eternal soul
is in jeopardy thanks to your kid! What do you have to say for yourself?

Jen:
Fuck you!

See why I needed more information? Calling up another mother without the whole story is like walking into a minefield.

The Hubs and I decided that he’d go up to the school (with full permission from the principal), observe the kids during their recess, and report back so we could make a plan. He saw that Gomer was telling the truth and that it wasn’t just Gomer getting the shit kicked out of him. Agnes hid out behind the play
structure where the teachers couldn’t see her and whenever an unsuspecting student would drift into her area, Agnes would tackle the child and pummel them.

We contacted the teacher and told her about what the Hubs had witnessed. We asked her to keep an eye on the kids and let us know what she saw. Her reply to my initial email was, “I’m so surprised to hear that Gomer and Agnes aren’t getting along! Agnes just adores Gomer and spends as much time as she can with him. Sure, she’s a bit handsy with her friends, but she’s got a lot of energy bottled up in that little body and it’s hard at this age to keep your excitement contained. I’ll speak with both of them and make sure they understand how we treat our friends. By the way, have you met Agnes’s mother? She’s a lovely woman and does so much for our school! She’s coming in today to redo my bulletin board—she’d heard it had been vandalized and she offered to fix it. I’ll just mention this email to her and I’m sure we can get the situation with Gomer and Agnes sorted out right away.”

Within a week I received a gift. I came home from running errands and I found a large package on my front porch. It was a cool, upcycled metal bucket that you can only get at some trendy store I would never set foot in, filled with whimsical gifts for the family: giant marbles and fake mustaches for the kids, a Riding Mower–scented Yankee Candle for the Hubs, and tons of booze and cocktail napkins covered in pictures of perky 1950s housewives with snarky thought bubbles over their heads for me:
I just made a batch of shut the fucupcakes!

There was a note attached:

Dear Jen,

I don’t think we’ve actually met yet—we have several mutual friends, and I think I was introduced to you at the
Joneses’ back-to-school blowout a few weeks ago. I’ve heard so much about Gomer that I feel like I know you already! Agnes just adores Gomer and they have the best time together. You might have heard through the grapevine that whenever I see something that reminds me of Agnes’s friends I can’t help but buy it for them! It’s such a bad habit, but I can’t stop myself!

I thought Adolpha would like the marbles and Gomer would look fabulous in a mustache. I don’t know your husband’s tastes, but if he’s anything like mine, he’ll love this manly scented candle. I’ve been following your blog for some time and it’s so neat to have a “celebrity” (can I call you a celebrity, or does that embarrass you?) so close by. I saw these napkins and I just thought, “Those are perfect for Jen!”

I hope you like your gifts and I can’t wait to get a chance to spend some time with you. I’m working on fast-tracking your membership into the book club. I know it can take forever to get off the wait list, but I’ll see if I can’t get the girls to make an exception for you!

Maybe Gomer can come for a playdate soon? I know Agnes would love that!

Best, Agnes’s mom

Oh wow
, I thought.
She really is thoughtful! Those napkins are perfect for me and she called me a “celebrity.” No one’s ever called me a celebrity before. Maybe Agnes isn’t that bad. Her mom has terrific taste, after all. She bought adorable gifts and she thinks I’m a celebrity! Plus she’s working on my book club membership. I’ve been on that damn list for a year!