To: Parents
From: AChang
Date: 01/05
Subject: I’m your new class mom
Happy New Year,
Most of you know me, but for those who don’t, I’m Asami Chang and I will be taking over the duties of class mom from Jennifer Dixon.
It will be my pleasure to get our class back on track after a bumpy fall.
First of all, these emails will be content driven, not a forum for me to tell jokes and solicit bribes. Second, I welcome comments and input. I may be in charge, but you definitely have a say.
Below are things you need to know:
January 18 is picture day. Make sure your children’s uniforms are clean and pressed. I’m concerned by the lack of emphasis most of you place on neatness. Please pay attention to this. I find a daily bath is very helpful. I’ve also noticed a lot of messy hair. I plan to stand beside the photographer with a brush and I will be using it. I suggest a ponytail for the girls with long hair, or perhaps a braid. I’m happy to braid hair that day. I will assume if you send your daughter to school with her hair down, you want me to braid it.
I’m organizing a class coffee meeting after pickup on January 12. We will meet at Homer’s Coffee House at 8:30 a.m. Please be prompt.
Miss Ward informs me our children will be taking a field trip to the Quindaro Underground Railroad Museum on February 28. I will need one mother to go with me. Please don’t volunteer if you already went on the recycling field trip. And be prepared to watch the kids closely and not socialize.
And now here are a few messages from the school administration …
I have to stop reading. My blood is boiling. I thought I was over being pissed off, but as I unclench my back teeth, I can see this clearly isn’t the case.
How is it acceptable for Asami Chang to give grooming alerts and threaten kids with braids? All I ever did was try to make people lighten up.
Principal Jakowski’s words are still burned into my brain. He had accosted me outside the gym just before the kids’ holiday concert and basically fired me from being class mom.
“I’m sorry, Jen, but some of the parents feel you use the position to push your own agenda.”
“What agenda? I don’t have an agenda.”
“Is it true you solicited bribes in return for better conference times?”
“That was a joke! Do you really think I’d let someone buy me a coat?”
“What about asking for Starbucks gift cards?” he asked.
“Oh, my God, I don’t even remember doing that, but I’m sure I didn’t mean it.”
“And of course there is the jewelry incident at the class cocktail party.”
“Why does everyone think that was my idea?”
“Mrs. Fancy said you asked her to throw the party. I mean, you did send out the invitations.”
“She wanted to have the party,” I explained. “I was just following orders.”
“Well, according to her, you asked for the party on that specific date and her jewelry friend was booked to come to town for a visit. She felt she had to let her display her things as compensation for the party being held during her visit.”
Clearly, this man will believe anything.
“I’m still having a hard time seeing how that’s my fault.”
“Yes, well, some of the parents have also complained that you make racist remarks in your emails.”
“What?” I screamed. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “That is not true!”
Principal Jakowski pulled out a piece of paper and handed it to me. It was one of my first emails to the class. I had been organizing the curriculum night class get-together. He had helpfully highlighted the offending phrase.
No hard feelings, Asami. I understand your people’s lust for power.
I laughed before I could stop myself, and then put my hand over my mouth.
“Okay, I can see how that might look, but I was just trying to make light of the situation. I mean, the woman was trying to have me kicked out after one week on the job! Nina Grandish and I already talked about this.”
Of course, Nina! She’d talk some sense into this guy. I suggested the principal call the head of the Parents’ Association.
“I already have. I had to make three calls and text her twice before she called me back. She didn’t seem interested in addressing the situation at all. In fact, she asked me to handle it. It seems she’s been under the weather. Anyway, now I’m forced to get involved and I want you to know we take racism very seriously in this school.”
At that very moment, I realized that I was fighting for a job I’d never wanted in the first place. Principal Jakowski was handing me a Get Out of Jail Free card and I was trying to get back in. Was I nuts?
“You want me to step down? Fine. Merry Christmas.” I stomped into the gym just as the first group of kids was starting their performance.
As the sixth-grade class sang “Holly Jolly Christmas” (my God, that song is repetitive!) I stewed. They don’t want me? Fine. Nina agrees with them? Fine. I’d fix her wagon. I’d fix all their wagons. Visions of prom night in the movie Carrie kept me busy while each class filed in and sang Christmas carols.
I really wished Ron had been able to make it to the concert. He would have talked me off the ledge. But he was in the middle of his Christmas savings bonanza down at the store. I’d promised him I would record the show on my phone.
So when Miss Ward took the stage to introduce the kindergarteners, I brought my focus back to the gym. Max had been very secretive about what the class was planning, so of course I pushed Record and braced myself. God bless that Miss Ward; she never disappoints.
The kids filed onto the stage in what are best described as tacky tourist costumes. Max was wearing a tropical shirt, a baseball cap, cargo shorts, and sandals with brown socks. Some of the kids wore cameras around their necks and zinc oxide on their noses. Naturally, they all looked adorable, but I couldn’t imagine what Miss Ward had in store for us. She explained that they wanted to remind everyone that people celebrate Christmas all over the world, not just in places that have snow (because people not remembering that is one of the bigger problems we face in the world?) And then they sang … get ready for it … “Kokomo,” by the Beach Boys! Not the Kodak moment I was imagining for my five-year-old son’s first Christmas concert, but I laughed at the sheer cuteness of it. I shelved my mass murder plot, at least for a little while.
At the class party afterward, I was grateful to be surrounded by kids and parents the whole time, as it kept me from welling up about the shame spiral I was in. Fired! As class mom! How was I going to tell Max?
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Don Burgess with Ali and Lulu, looking at the class’s homemade snow globes. Part of me wanted to run to him and sob my broken heart out. Ron, while being my rock, would ultimately give me the “I’m the master of my own misery” speech. Somehow I knew Suchafox wouldn’t do that. He’d take me in those solid arms and tell me the people who got me fired were all assholes. Or would he? I’ll never know because, thank God, I didn’t act on that impulse. But I did receive a text from him later that day.
Nice job on the holiday party. Sorry I didn’t get a chance to talk to you. You seemed kind of down. Everything ok?
I didn’t think my rage/humiliation was noticeable. I need a better game face.
Yeah, just the holiday blues, I guess. Thanks for noticing.
And not ten seconds later …
Well, I’m around if you want to talk.
Hmm … maybe that’s what he meant by coffee. I thanked him and wished him a Merry Christmas. I was too bummed out to even attempt to be flirty.
I tried to do what Taylor Swift does and just shake it off, but between the class mom thing and my wayward thoughts about Don, a pall was cast over my whole holiday season. Christmas Day was a complete disaster. Nina and Chyna came, of course, along with my parents, the girls, Raj (back in favor for now), and, to everyone’s surprise, Garth. I forgot that I had even asked him until he gave me his answer on Christmas Eve.
Nina still wasn’t in great shape and I was in no mood to prop her up. I mean, she had basically thrown me under the bus. I thought it was gutsy of her to show up at all, but realized she probably did it for Chyna. She spent a lot of time by the Christmas tree, drinking wine. The only person she spoke to at any great length was Garth, although I couldn’t imagine what they’d have to talk about.
It was nice to see Raj back in the mix. No ring on Vivs’s finger, but no hostility between them, either. Apparently they were at an impasse.
And I guess I am, too. I log out of my email and sigh. Asami has won. The only thing left for me to do is get Max ready for picture day.
Oh, yes, that is exactly what I will do.
* * *
As I plot my picture day revenge in my head, I run up to get changed for my first workout of the New Year. T minus four months until the mud run, and I know Garth is going to step it up.
My phone buzzes as I’m putting my T-shirt on. I figure it’s Peetsa, but it’s actually Don sending me a picture of a beautiful baby. What the…? I type back to him.
What’s up with the baby?
It’s me. Cute, wasn’t I?
Yes, you were. What the hell happened? You’re hideous now.
Ha ha, puberty happened. We all can’t be natural beauties like you.
I get goose bumps when I read this. I’m a natural beauty, am I?
Well, it’s a curse, this beauty of mine. I spend all day fending off advances from strange men.
Hey, I’m not that strange.
I laugh out loud as I put the phone down to tie my shoe. It buzzes again almost immediately.
What are you up to? Can you meet for coffee?
There’s that coffee offer again.
Sorry, I can’t. I’m going to work out.
I could help you work out.
I’ll bet you could, I think to myself, then snap back to reality. Why am I even encouraging this? Flirty texting is just a gateway to adultery. I know that’s what Nina would tell me. But it’s also harmless and kind of fun.
I’m sure you could, but I have a hot trainer waiting for me in my basement. Gotta go!
I push Send and turn off my phone in case I’m lured into any more sparring.
As I walk down to Ron’s Gym and Tan, I note that Garth has finally taken my suggestion and let himself in. He’s busy setting up some kind of obstacle course for me.
“Hey, Garth, happy New Year.” I walk over and hug him.
“You too! What did you guys end up doing?”
“The only thing you can do when you have kids.” I shrug. “You do fake midnight at nine o’clock and then head to Club White Sheets.”
“Where is Club White Sheets? Is it that new place over on Grand?”
I start to laugh. “It’s bed, Garth. Club White Sheets is bed.”
He looks confused for a second, then bursts out laughing. His laugh makes me laugh ever harder and soon we’re rolling on the floor.
Garth gains control first.
“Okay. Enough. While you’re on the ground, why don’t we start with twenty push-ups and fifty sit-ups, just to get warmed up?”
“Spoilsport.” I scowl, but flip over and give him twenty perfect man push-ups. I surprise both of us.
“Nice, Jen. Wow! New year, new you.”
“I can’t believe I just did that,” I pant.
I flip over and launch into my sit-ups with newfound confidence. By forty I’m hurting, but I make it to fifty before I collapse, panting.
“So much for the new me,” I say.
“Don’t be silly. You’ve come a long way, baby! I’m proud of you. Now, up off your caboose and let’s get going.”
* * *
Garth manages to have me sweating like a pig by the end of the hour. As I’m walking him to the door, he casually asks about Nina.
“What about her?” I ask a little too briskly.
“Weeelll,” Garth drawls. I think I might have scared him off. “I had a really nice time talking to her and I’m wondering if she’s mentioned me at all.”
“Jesus, Garth, I don’t know. I’ll pass her a note in science class.”
As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I feel bad. I can see the hurt look in his eyes.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. I just haven’t spoken to Nina since Christmas. She has been going through a bit of a rough patch thanks to her ex, and she hasn’t been answering her phone.”
Garth waves my comments aside.
“No worries. I was just wondering how she’s doing. We had talked about her possibly designing a website for me.”
“Well, she’s really good at it, that’s for sure. If she talked about it with you, I’m sure she’s already coming up with ideas. It may take her some time to get out of her funk and get working, though.”
“I get it,” he says. But I wonder if he really does.
After Garth leaves, I check my phone and see it has blown up in the past hour, thanks to Asami’s email. Everybody wants the 411 on my class mom demise. Peetsa, Ravi, and Kim Alexander all express their concern with a “WTF,” and Shirleen Cobb is not at all happy about having to teach the new class mom all about Graydon’s many needs. Only Suchafox sees a silver lining.
Maybe now you’ll have time for coffee with me.
I really need to make sure we’re talking about the same type of coffee. But before that, I’d better figure out which one I want.
* * *
I stroll up to the school the next day to wait for Max to come out, and I see what I have been dreading—all the mothers from my class standing around in little klatches, talking and drinking Starbucks. Normally I would be one of them with my grande skim chai latte, but because of my class mom shame, I have been avoiding this scene since the new year started. For the past couple of days, I have had Ron leave the store to do pickup, but today I decide to face the music.
As I walk toward the front of the school, I can’t help but feel like everyone is talking about me. I know I’m just being paranoid. I walk up to Peetsa and Ravital Brown.
“Oh, my God, Jen, we were just talking about you. Where the hell have you been?”
“Did you write that email from Asami as a joke?” asks Ravi. “That was so funny. Best one yet.”
I gave them both a hug. I’ve missed them.
“No, sadly—this time the joke’s on me.”
“So it’s true?” Peetsa gasps. “One of Hunter’s moms tried to tell me, but I wouldn’t believe her.”
“Well, believe it.”
“Jeez. Are you okay?” she asks. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.”
“You were away and I didn’t want to bring you down over the holidays.”
I tell them about my conversation with Principal Jakowski and they react exactly how I would expect my besties to react. Outraged! Infuriated! Bent on revenge! Until I mention the accusation of racism.
“I mean, come on, it was a joke!” I say, exasperated.
They look at me and then at each other and then at the ground.
“What am I missing?” I ask.
Ravi takes the bullet.
“Well, I have to admit when Asami asked me what I thought of the phrase ‘your people’s lust for power,’ I said I thought it was a little off. I mean, now that I know you, I see you were being funny, but at the time I didn’t know what to think.” She looks at her shoes.
“Hey, we all love your emails,” Peetsa adds, “but people are really sensitive about racism. I know you meant it as a joke, but maybe the class email isn’t the best place for it.”
I look at both of them and am about to say something when a swarm of kids runs out the front door. In the sea of winter jackets, Max is easy to spot in his leopard-print coat. He’s carrying Zach B. on his back.
“Hey, Mom. Zach B. is riding me like I’m a horse.”
“Well, you do look like an animal in that coat.” I smile.
I look up at Peetsa and Ravi, who are hugging their boys.
“Ravi, I’m sorry if I offended you. Really. It was a thoughtless thing to write.”
Ravital shakes her head.
“Trust me, I wasn’t that offended.”
“Oh, God, I’m really going to miss your emails,” Peetsa moans.
“What, you don’t like personal-hygiene tips in your class emails?” I ask. “I found that very helpful. A bath! Who would have thought?”
As we are walking to our cars, Peetsa asks me about Nina.
“You know, I haven’t spoken to her since Christmas. She and Chyna came over for dinner, but she was still not herself.”
“Wow, when she goes to the dark place she really pitches a tent.” Peetsa shakes her head. “What did she say about the class mom stuff?”
“I haven’t talked to her about it.” I shrug. “Jakowski told her what he was planning and she said she didn’t want to get involved.”
“That’s cold.”
“I know, right?” Suddenly I feel vindicated. “I really think she could have put the kibosh on this whole thing if she had just taken her head out of her ass for five minutes.”
Peetsa is shaking her head and laughing.
“Too harsh?” I ask.
She puts her thumb and finger up to show me an inch.
I buckle Max into his car seat and as I slide into the minivan I check my phone. I’m rewarded with a text from Don.
You look nice today. Very fit.
I immediately look up to see if he’s watching me.
How the hell would you know?
I caught a glimpse as I was pulling up to get Lulu.
Oh. Well, thanks. What are you up to?
Taking Lulu to dance class. You?
Max has Scouts.
So … still no coffee?
Not today!
But there is the hope of someday?
Absolutely.
I put the phone in my purse and start the minivan. Texts from Don have become kind of a regular thing. I’m enjoying the sparring but can’t help but feel that I’m doing something wrong, like picking my nose in public. Then that feeling gets me pissed off, because I’m just having fun and it feels good to have the attention of someone besides Ron and it doesn’t mean anything and can’t I just have a friend who is a guy, dammit? Welcome to the cocktail party in my head.
I pull out of the school’s parking lot and decide to not think about it any more today.
* * *
For the next couple of weeks my life goes back to its normal, dull housewifey routine, although without the class mom crap to annoy me I find I have a bit of spare time on my hands.
“Idle hands are the devil’s workshop,” I can hear my mother say. I never fully understood what that meant until I realize that I’m spending most of my spare time either flirty-texting with Don or concocting a plan to sabotage Asami’s picture day efforts. My thoughts go from the benign (tell the kids not to smile, or else) to the macabre (light a fire in school so the sprinklers go off and soak everyone’s hair. Braid that, Asami), but I don’t want to do anything that will hurt or upset the kids, so my options are limited. I consider asking Don to be my accomplice, but realize I want to take either all the credit or all the blame, depending on how things go down.
Garth is pushing me harder than ever, and I have to say I’m pleased with the results. My usual post-holiday five pounds didn’t materialize, so I’m looking and feeling better than I ever have.
“Any plans for the long weekend?” Garth asks as I’m finishing my final set of lunges across the basement floor.
“Nothing much. You?”
“Well, nothing yet, but I thought if you were up for it we could go to Wichita on Saturday. This charity I work with is having a scaled-down indoor mudder at Hartman Arena.”
“An indoor mudder?” I take a swig of water. “They do that?”
“Actually, this is the first one.”
“Sounds dirty and smelly.”
“I’ll be disappointed if it isn’t,” Garth assures me. “I think you need to get a look at what you’ll be facing. You’ve only ever seen it on YouTube. I just want you to get a sense of the scale. What we’re going to see still isn’t a full mudder, but it’s the best I can do in Kansas in February.”
“It’s not a bad idea. Can I bring Max?”
“Sure!” says Garth as he gives me a huge smile. “Aren’t road trips just the best?”
* * *
I’m standing with Peetsa and Ravi, waiting for the kids to get out of school. It’s warm for January so we don’t have our heads and faces covered as we usually do. I see Don Burgess standing with Kim or Carol Alexander, and I wave. Don holds up his phone and gives me a shrug. He’s wondering why I haven’t answered his text from this morning. I told him I was going to Wichita with my trainer this weekend and he’s been bugging me for details.
Are you going to have coffee with him?
I take my phone out of my pocket and type a quick response.
I never disclose my coffee-drinking plans.
The girls and I are talking about our plans for Martin Luther King weekend. Peetsa tells us she and Buddy are packing up the kids and taking them skiing at Buddy’s parents’ place at Snow Creek. When I mention my big road trip to Wichita to observe the mudder, they are pretty impressed. Ravi says she doesn’t have any plans so I ask if Zach B. wants to join us on our road trip. Selfishly, I know it will go better if Max has a buddy.
“He’d love to,” she says, and then her face lights up. “Oh, my goodness, does that mean I’ll have a Saturday to myself?”
“And a Friday night, if you’ll let him sleep over.”
Just then the bell rings and the kindergarteners start pouring out of the school. Normally they are a pretty wild bunch, but today I notice a lot of heads down and even a few kids crying. When I locate Max’s leopard coat, I can see that he looks very unhappy. When he sees me, his little face crumples and he holds out his arms.
“What is it, baby?” I get down on my knees to hug him. Peetsa and Ravi are doing the same thing with their kids. They both give me a “What the hell?” look.
“Max, sweetie, what happened?” I pull his head away to look him in the face.
“He’s dead. We saw him.”
“Who’s dead?” I’m thinking the class fish.
“Martin Luther King. Someone shot him with a gun and they put him in a box just like Rufus.” Rufus was our pet guinea pig. He died last year of natural causes and he’s buried in a shoebox underneath the wild rhubarb that grows in the backyard.
“Oh, sweetie, I’m so sorry. Where did you see the picture?” I ask as I mentally compose a hate letter to Miss Ward.
“Mrs. Chang showed us.”
“What?” Peetsa, Ravi, and I say all at once.
The boys cry louder.
I really want to go back into the school and find out what the hell happened, but I can’t leave Max like this.
“Did he really die?” Max asks through his sobs. “He was so nice and helpful.”
I can tell this is going to open up the death discussion again, and I’m just not up for it. Memories of Max dealing with Rufus’s death come flooding back to me. He cried for days. Ron was at a loss, so he brought home a book that someone at his store recommended called Something Is Wrong with Grandma. It’s supposed to help kids understand and deal with death, but all it did was convince Max that something was wrong with his grandma. It took him months to get over his fear that my mother was going to keel over any second.
“You know, he died a long time ago, and it was very sad. But he did so many amazing things in his life and when you think about it, he now has a whole day for people to remember how good he was.”
“Where did they bury him?” Max asks me. I give Ravi and Peetsa a desperate look, because how the hell would I know?
Ravi comes to the rescue: “I think he’s buried in Atlanta, right near where he grew up.” That sounds about right. I give her a grateful smile.
Peetsa looks at all three boys.
“Did Mrs. Chang show you a picture of his grave?” she asks, trying to get a clearer idea of what they saw.
“No, it was a picture of him lying in a box with his eyes closed,” Zach T. says. His eyes start to water.
Oh, good God. No wonder they’re traumatized. Showing a picture of a dead body in a casket to five-year-olds. I turn to Max.
“Hey, can you sit with Mrs. Tucci in her car for a minute? I want to go talk to Miss Ward.”
“Why don’t I take all three of you to our place for hot chocolate?” Peetsa offers.
The boys nod and smile. Proof once again that chocolate solves just about all of life’s problems.
“Want me to come with you?” Ravi asks me.
“Sure. P., we’ll be over in a little while.”
“Sounds good.” Peetsa waves as she hustles the boys to her car.
Ravi and I head into the school and march right down to room 147.
“You can do the talking,” she says as we reach the door.
“Count on it.” I wink at her.
As we enter Miss Ward’s colorful classroom, I can see we are not the first parents to arrive. Dr. Evil is leaning over the front of Miss Ward’s desk and speaking in low but severe tones. As we walk in I hear Kim say, “… and I’m sick of it.”
“Hi. Sorry to interrupt, but we have some really upset little boys on our hands.” I look directly at Kim Fancy. “Was Nancy upset, too?”
“About what?” Kim’s slight scowl tells me she’s both annoyed and confused.
“Hi, Jen. Is this about the Martin Luther King presentation?” Miss Ward asks, as if she’s asking how the weather is.
“Uh, yes. Max and his friends came out of school really freaked out from seeing a picture of a dead body.”
“A what?” Kim and Miss Ward ask at once.
“Weren’t you here for Asami’s presentation?”
“No.” Miss Ward actually looks contrite. “I, um, had some papers to grade, so I went to the teachers’ lounge while she did it. When I got back, she told me she had already dismissed them.”
“Seriously? You let a parent dismiss the kids?” I’m a little surprised. I’m also wondering what kind of papers a kindergarten teacher needs to grade.
“Well, I wouldn’t normally, but she seemed to have things under control. You say she showed them a dead body? Whose?”
“Martin Luther King’s,” I say, exasperated. “He was in his coffin. Max is completely traumatized. He came running out of school crying.”
Miss Ward and Kim look at each other. Kim shakes her head and walks out of the classroom. What the hell?
“Well, I will certainly talk to Asami about it and find out what happened,” Miss Ward assures me. She pauses and smiles sardonically.
“Jenny, it’s so funny to have you complaining about her. She complained about you constantly.”
“Yes, it must be hilarious for you.” I turn quickly and almost hit Ravi as I’m walking out. I totally forgot she was with me.
As we head down the hall, Ravi seems to read my thoughts. “I can’t believe she left the class alone with a parent. Is that normal?”
“Depends on whose world you live in.” I sigh.