Paint and Pixels

Dismissed

There is a peaceful serenity that preempts the madness, as I walk the suburban sidewalk that leads to the school grounds. Roxy skips ahead and sings. I stroll beneath blue skies and tweedling birds that flutter through the breeze. I approach the playgrounded blacktop that is polka dotted with stay-at-home-moms that stare blankly at the school with their hands on their hips, as if it is a stage on which a performance is occurring. But not a very amuzing performance. The stay at home moms- fat ones, skinny ones; chatty ones, loner ones; white ones, tan ones. And we all make small talk, as if we have things in common. We make the kind of talk that doesn’t require my brain. My unconscious brain talks while my conscious brain enjoys its’ last minutes of nappy nap. I don’t even know what I am saying to those stay-at-home-moms- all I know is that I nod and chuckle at particular moments just like I think I am supposed to do.
And then the bell happens… I had been bracing myself for it. The stampede begins. Immediately little children pour out of the building like sprinkles coming from a shaker. Millions of colorful little sprinkles jibber jabbering all sorts of squeaky non-sense. I am perplexed as to why they all seem to gravitate towards me. There are at least a handful of other moms- pudgy soft ones with wide open-mouth smiles and their arms spread open in loving acceptance. But no… there I am- glaring, ready to swat them away, (and I have metal spikes all over me too), but they all flock to ME.
“ummm… no, you are not my kid”
“Where is your own mom?”
“Do I even know your name?”
“ok lets leave now”
“wait, did I ever even find my own kid?!”
“and there’s my cat. Why is my cat here? Did you follow me too?”.
I try to shake the clinging little leeches off, but inevitably by the time I get home there is some sneaky little ones still attached- like those prickly stickers that attach onto your socks if you walk through a field. And they are all talking non-sense again.
“I want ice-cream!”
“Let’s color with markers! And smash crayons!”
“no lets paint! With lots and lots of paint!!”
“I want candy!”
-fart
"HIYA!!!!"
“I think I peed my pants. Isn't that funny?!”
And someone is crying.
And I’m not sure if I’ve accounted for all of my children- all two of them. But I’m home. I brainlessly instinctually start throwing out fruit roll-ups- anything to settle things down. And when the fruit roll-ups are gone I start handing out popsicles. Drippy sticky sugar-stick-sicles. By the time I have opened the last one, the first kid is finished with the first one and saying “blah blah blah MORE”. And then I notice that every single one of them is drinking a Pepsi- that they must have got out of my fridge, and caffeine is already oozing out their eye glands and ear canals. Why didn’t they need help opening those?! But they still want MORE!! I almost start pouring tequila into dixi cups and laying them on paper towels along with one quarter of a graham cracker next to each one, when I come to my senses. WHAT was I thinking?! DORA! Dora Dora DORA, the explorer!!! I run to the TV and turn it on, which perfectly hypnotizes each little kid.
Silence.
So I take a deep calming breath. Then starts the next emergency operation. I find a vessel- any vessel- a mug, a bowl, a teapot, a bathtub, a cruise liner. Then to the fridge. I grab the margarine, the chocolate chips, the brown sugar, the cheerios, the maple syrup, the jelly, the bleached granulated sugar, and the splenda… poury poury, melty melty, stiry stiry, happy happy… mmmm…. I deserve this.
Gosh, I am a jerk. I should be more grateful for God's most beautiful little creations.
It's just that it is incredibly unfortunate that I am not a kidnapper or child predator, because if I was, I would have the life I always dreamed of.