In Owen's schoolbag, there was a note from the school director, asking us to stay on Tuesday for a thirty to forty-five minute meeting because "We want to let you know how you can help us" with an event called the Dino Family Fun Fair.
This inexplicably filled me with rage.
Why do I need to sit for a forty-five minute meeting to discuss something that could be sent in an email?
Why do I need to either make arrangements to have somebody watch Joel for this meeting or spend the entire meeting scooping him away from the bathroom?
And the potted plants.
Perhaps the framed picture of the Pope.
Maybe Owen's classroom of forbidden wonders.
Let's not forget the life size statue of Mary, which he has been hell-bent on falling (like a statue of Stalin) since the first day of school.
More importantly, why this expectation? Why is my time unimportant? Why is it assumed that I give a rat's left testicle about the Dino Family Fun Fair?
I'm not going. I will be the slacker mom. I will do whatever you tell me to do--make a paper mache brontosaurus, whatever. But I will not sit in that chair.
(And if you think this has anything to do with the fact that Paul is going on a business trip to Hawaii next week, you may be on to something.)