Classroom Helper

I spent part of my day off yesterday being a "room mother" at the kid's school.

Before you think I did this because I am such a caring, philanthropic soul, remember that Ainsley's school asks (though is it really asking if they charge us $100 at the end of the year if we don't do it?) that each school family contribute a total of 20 hours of volunteering per year at the school. That's why Ains and I each took a shift at the pit of hell otherwise known as the church festival, and why I made a huge pan of not-from-the-box brownies for the school Halloween party; I'm in it for the hours. And every time I have a day off school that Ainsley doesn't, instead of falling asleep on the couch with chocolate melting in my lap and The Price is Right blaring on the TV, I'll be helping out in a room full of 5-year-olds.

It wasn't so bad. The last part of my sentence involved working the "sweet shop", in which the munchkins trade in the pennies they have earned for good behavior for nickels and the nickels for small boxes of Nerds. I gave each kid the option, as the teacher asked me to, of holding on to their nickels for bigger prizes to come at future sweet shops. A very few did this; most, including my own daughter, acted like those Nerds were little boxes of gold. I reminded Ains that we had a couple hundred of those same boxes of Nerds at home, left over from trick-or-treat. Heaven forbid she walk out of the sweet shop empty-handed, though, so she traded in her nickels for more pure-sugar-and-fake-strawberry-flavor goodness.

The differences in maturity among the kids was amazing. Some of the kids looked like babies; you could just fold them up and put 'em in your pocket. Others, mostly the boys, looked like they were just days away from needing to shave and from getting driver's licenses. I know that the big thing now is to hold boys with late birthdays back a year to allow them to be more mature when they get to kindergarten, and I'm not knocking it (especially with all the trouble Ainsley had adjusting herself that first month, being one of the youngest kids), but it's weird to see these older boys like Gandalf among the hobbits.

I loved being able to put faces with the names from all the big hairy tales Ainsley comes home with. When I met some of these kids, I would think, "Oh, so you're the one who pushed my kid on the playground," or "You're the one who was first in the class to get sent to the principal's office." Surprisingly, they all seemed very well-behaved and polite to me.

Until later last night. During bath time, Ainsley informed me that "George" (name changed to protect the guilty) had told the class he thought I was ugly. Wow. That'll do wonders for your self-esteem. I mean, I know I wasn't wearing my makeup or anything, but dang. That's harsh coming from a 5-year-old.

"But 'Meredith' said she likes your hair," Ainsley said, apologetically.

"Do you think I'm ugly?"

Ainsley thought for a moment. "No. You're pretty when you wear earrings."

It will be Christmas before I have another opportunity to work in her classroom, and that's a good thing. My ego needs some time to recover.

And I'll be sure to wear earrings.