One morning some years ago I was called out of a business meeting with an urgent message from my child’s pre-school. My daughter had been injured in a fight and I needed to come right away to fetch her. My heart raced with fear as I excused myself from the meeting because of a “family emergency” and I rushed to her school. When I arrived I was directed to the principal’s office where little K sat glumly, thick white gauze covering a bleeding gash above her right eye.
“We need to talk about your daughter’s disciplinary issues,” the principal began.
“It was his fault, he started it!” little K wailed.
“May I have a moment alone with my daughter?” I asked. This mommy-counselor needs to confer with her alleged perpetrator-daughter-client before charges are brought.
“Of course,” said the principal as she left her office and closed the door behind us.
Disciplinary issues? My sweet adorable little ballerina? Disciplinary issues? In pre-school? My five-year old little angel? Really? The principal clearly must be mistaken.
“Now tell me baby, what happened this morning?”
“Little T hit me! He hit me on the head with his toy!” little K wailed. “It’s all his fault!”
“Why would he do something like that?”
“I don’t know! I was just sitting in the corner by myself playing house and he wouldn’t leave me alone.”
“He wouldn’t?”
“No he wouldn’t, mommy. I told him I didn’t want to play with him but he wouldn’t leave me alone and he was getting on my nerves.”
“So he hit you?” I was confused. If he hit her then why was she in trouble and not he?
“He was getting on my nerves so I spit on him,” little K said matter-of-factly.
“Oh, I see. Then what happened?”
“Then he hit me on the head with a toy dinosaur. It was all his fault!” she sobbed.
I reached for little K’s hand and tenderly held it in mine, all the while contemplating in silence. It’s that age-old dilemma we girls face: how to deal with unwanted attention from the male species.
“Darling, I know little T can be annoying, but you should really refrain from spitting on him.” Little T is a whiny little brat and I totally get how he could incite my sweet pea to violence.
“Why can’t I spit on him?”
“Because spit is germy and disgusting and you’ll get in trouble for spitting on people.”
“Eeew gross. Germs. But he gets on my nerves.”
“Then do what I do. Works every time.”
“Do what, mommy?”
“Do this. When a boy gets on your nerves, just smile and nod sweetly. Then tell him you need to go to the bathroom.”
“That’s it?”
“Well then you go to the bathroom. And you don’t come back.”
“Okay mommy. Next time I’ll do that.”
“You don’t have to pee. Just go into the bathroom and hide for a little while until he goes away or gives up, ok?”
“Okay mommy.”
“And remember. Whatever you do, don’t spit on boys. Because what happens when you spit on boys?”
“You get hit on the head with a dinosaur.”
“Exactly.”
I opened the door and waved to the principal to return. “Little K and I had our mother-daughter talk and she understands what she did wrong. I can assure you that this will never happen again. Right, K?”
“Right, mommy.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” said the principal. “Now little K needs to apologize to little T.”
The principal left the room and a few minutes later reappeared with little T in tow. Little K glared at him from under her bandaged eye.
“Do you have something to say to little T?” asked the principal.
“Uh huh,” replied little K, turning to face little T.
“Sorry I spit on you.” Little K paused for a moment and then swallowed. “Can I go now? I gotta pee.”
And to this day little K has not, to my knowledge, spat on any other boy, nor has she been hit on the head with another dinosaur.
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Names and details changed to protect the innocent and the guilty. Happy Mother’s Day everyone!
