My mum had an hilarious take on parents evening, when she announced one year ‘I’m not going to parents evening anymore-half the teachers don’t even seem to know who you are, and after I got to the RE teacher, he said exactly the same thing to me that he did to the parent in front of me, and then said exactly the same to the one after me. What a waste of time.’ Admittedly, there had been an incident one year when my drama teacher (who I think was either on drugs, or had the beginnings of dementia,) genuinely couldn’t recall who I was. Instead of winging it, he spent the entire appointment apparently shaking his head, eyebrows raised, looking to the sky, trying and failing to bring a picture of me to mind, with my mums increasingly exasperated descriptions of me falling on a blank face. I totes made an impression there then… Parents evening was not popular in our house.
So why am I talking about parents evening when my children aren’t at school? Well, I was absentmindedly scrolling the relentless crappy emails on my phone, bypassing things I really need to unsubscribe from-Achica (never really have anything I want,) Loaf (too cool for school, mostly can’t afford it,) the place where we went on our honeymoon (really need to unsubscribe from their emails, I cry every time I see that place, knowing I’ll never go there again-they sensibly don’t allow children…) when I saw an email entitled ‘Parents Evening.’ What the hell? I opened it to find it was from our eldest’s nursery. Yes-a nursery wanted us to go in for parents evening? I was torn between laughing out loud, and crying at how ridiculous the world has become. I settled for somewhere between the two.
What were they going to tell me? What I already knew-that my son is an absolute angel for anyone apart from me, and at the mere sniff of my presence, he goes all split personality, crazy assed Damien on me? Oh my goodness, apparently we were going to get to ‘try out’ some of the crafts the children get to do while they’re there. Ok, I’m all for doing my very best to attempt crafts and stuff during working hours, but when the children are asleep, that is wine and Netflix time. That is NOT, under any circumstances, time to waste doing crafts that you will struggle to remember the next day, and will never in a month of Sundays have all of the materials for, just conveniently at your disposal.
Maybe they wanted to kill us with more buzzwords? During the nursery introductory talk, when the eldest was doing his settling in session, caught between the excitement of being in a room, with my husband, away from our own house, and the fact that the lady talking to us was apparently having a buzzword competition with herself to see how many she could fit into one sentence, my attention kept drifting. I’m sure I re-joined the conversation at one point where it sounded like she was saying ‘your son will be greeted at the door by a unicorn each morning he arrives, which will take him down the correct spiritually enlightening path, to the activity that will meet his emotional, spiritual, psychosocial and physical needs. Fairies will wipe his bum and attend to his every pampering need, including a weekly manicure and pedicure…’ It was something along those lines anyway.
Maybe they wanted to discuss the menu? I kid you not, the typical menu for this nursery goes as follows: Slow braised beef with home grown beans from our very own nursery garden, lightly seasoned tortilla slices, with an optional side of home made tomato sauce, made with organic tomatoes. Pudding will be fresh banana loaf (made from organic, fair trade bananas,) served with a selection of organic and fair trade fruit. The vegetarian option will be a butter bean cassoulet, which will also be suitable for vegans.’ Maybe they were thinking of introducing:
- Unicorn urine instead of water-apparently it contains all the vitamin D the children need, so no need to worry about the threat of a rickets pandemic.
- 24 hour slow cooked unicorn-the unicorns love the children so much, they have offered themselves as a sacrifice, as one bite of their magical flesh will provide instant immunity from all childhood illnesses.
- Replace all pasta products with substitutes made from fairy hair-these would naturally be carb free, suiting the Paleo mummies who sometimes can’t even step foot into the nursery at the mere sight of the word ‘pasta’ on the menu.
- Replace anything requiring potatoes, with sweet potatoes (see point 3.)
- Combine the faeces of the children, the unicorns, and the fairies, to make the ultimate fertiliser for the nursery’s home grown vegetable crop-the latest studies have shown that if the children eat food grown in this soil, this makes the chances of them being fluent in at least 3 languages, and able to read and write to GCSE standard by the time they leave the nursery, increase by 74%
Of course, there would also be the lusting over Lolita going on. Lolita is one of the girls who works at the nursery, who is the talk of the dads. Not only the dads, my children, even the one who only gets to see her when we do the drop off, are totally in love with her. She looks about 16, has long, lushious hair, and a high pitched, oh so girly voice, that makes her the perfect girl next door fantasy. What I really don’t want is the awkwardness of all the dads drooling over Lolita, while she’s dancing around, waving her pert bum, probably braless, as her perfect boobs stay up all by themselves, throwing back her hair and infecting the minds of tired, overworked, sex deprived dads with her girly giggles. You can just imagine them all trooping home to bang one out in the shower when they get home.
Ooooh, I scroll down further, they ARE offering wine at this event! But unless there is a bed, a giant screen, and a choice of Netflix, Amazon Prime, Apple TV, and I’m exempt from doing the craft activities, I don’t think I want to go. Unless of course they can arrange for Ian Somerholder to be there to be there feeding me the wine, and giving me a foot massage while I make scented, sensory playdough, or am exploring my emotions through puppet play, then I might be tempted…
The head of the first sacrificial unicorn. It’s being kept on a bench at the nursery, to remind the children to be thankful for what it has done.
Thanks for reading!