WHY ARE YOU REALLY GIVING ME YOUR GOODY BAG?

why are you really giving me your goody bagTowards the end of this year, we attended class parties at Pumpkin’s school for Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Christmas.

We parents were asked to bring in food or other necessary supplies, and we gladly did our part. The adults showed up, our kids sang us songs, and there was yummy food. Everything was going smoothly until…

“Here! Happy Halloween from Emma!” (Not her real name, by the way.)

A clear plastic bag decorated with jack-o’-lanterns containing a glittery orange pencil, candy corn, and chocolate was being thrust into my hand.

Startled, I looked up, then down, to see a short woman, presumably Emma’s mom, staring up at me with a smile plastered across her face.

“Oh, thank you!” I gushed at the unexpected generosity. But Emma’s mom had already scurried away to the next unsuspecting parent. “Happy Halloween from Emma!”

Then, at the Thanksgiving potluck, after polishing off a plate of ravioli, salad, and pumpkin pie:

“Here! Happy Thanksgiving from Emma!”

There she was, plastic smile and all, holding out another goody bag, this time filled with turkey shaped erasers, pumpkin stickers, and even more candy corn.


I THANKED HER SLOWLY, WONDERING WHY SHE WAS DOING THIS, WHEN NO OTHER PARENT WAS. SHE QUICKLY MOVED ON TO THE NEXT UNASSUMING PARENT, INTERRUPTING HIS CONVERSATION WITH ANOTHER DAD.


I thanked her slowly, wondering why she was doing this, when no other parent was. She quickly moved on to the next unassuming parent, interrupting his conversation with another dad.

At the Christmas cookie decorating party, you can guess what happened after we helped Pumpkin decorate her gingerbread man with colored sprinkles, glittering sugar, and chocolate chips (which we brought in, thank you very much!):

“Here! Merry Christmas from Emma!”

Emma’s mom was a bit taller this time around, teetering precariously on 4-inch heels, spreading her version of Christmas cheer.

This bag contained more pencils, more chocolates, and some other stuff, I don’t remember or care. “Thank you,” I replied, and when she scampered off, I bent down next to Pumpkin.

“Which one is Emma?” I hissed.

She pointed to a girl who was fluttering around the room and giggling. She was nowhere near her mother.

Why was Emma’s mother doing this to us? Was she trying to make the other moms feel inadequate? Did she want Emma to be the most popular kid in the class? No one even knew who she was, or did they? Emma seemed blissfully unaware of her mother’s goodwill gestures, so what was the point, really?

I felt as though it were overkill. Giving out goody bags for one of the holidays would be one thing. Or if other parents were also giving out bags, that would be ok. It seemed strange that she, and only she, would give goodies at every holiday party.

 


Is there a parent in your child’s class who seems to be promoting themselves? Should it matter that the child doesn’t seem to be involved at all in sharing the gifts given in their name?


 

 


 Follow on Facebook Party on InstagramPin on Pinterest Email


 

Advertisements

FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL

first day title

Pumpkin started preschool for the first time this month.

I had no idea how I would react on that first day.

On one hand, I was almost certain she would adjust easily since she is naturally a very social person. On the other hand, she had never attended school before, and had only stayed alone with her grandparents, and we didn’t know how much she would miss us.

Continue reading “FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL”

SHE AIN’T SLOW, SHE’S MY (TALL) DAUGHTER

Back in the day when yours truly was just getting comfortable in my own skin circa the mid-90s, I realized something which would soon exasperate me to no end, but which I found pretty cool at the time: I was taller than every other girl in my class and as tall or taller than some of the boys.

I thought it would keep boys from picking on me, but instead some of them (the runts) were intimidated by me. All the girls secretly envied me, telling me wistfully that I could be a runway model, given my height and (stick) figure.


WHAT THEY DIDN’T KNOW ABOUT WAS THE TEARFUL FRUSTRATION OF A TEENAGE GIRL WHO WANTED TO LOOK CUTE IN CLOTHES THAT WERE ALWAYS TOO SHORT EVERYWHERE—SLEEVES, LEGS—OR HUNG LIKE A TENT WHEN GOING UP A SIZE.


What they didn’t know about was the tearful frustration of a teenage girl who wanted to look cute in clothes that were always too short everywhere—sleeves, legs—or hung like a tent when going up a size. It was incorrectly assumed that I must be an expert at basketball and volleyball, but when the cat was out of the bag, I would hang my head in shame.

Continue reading “SHE AIN’T SLOW, SHE’S MY (TALL) DAUGHTER”