judgmental asshole

The kids had their holiday concert this week. Two observations.

  1. I am a judgmental asshole.
  2. I am terrified because junior high schoolers are almost adults and not quite little kids and no one has a goddamn clue how to tell the difference.

First of all, I was peopled by this experience.  I had to go out. In public. Don’t worry, I brought yarn so as to avoid most eye contact.

I’m not on the spectrum.  I just prefer to not interact with anyone besides my hubby, my kids, and my friends.  And frankly, I’ve been choosing my pillow fort over being friends with my friends lately.

Next in line, I’d like to point out the two and half inch high heels worn by Twelve’s former BFF.  Like Twelve, she’s TWELVE.  She wore her LBD (little black dress), black pantyhose, and heels.  And black eyeliner.  Twelve. Years. Old.

When I brought it up to Twelve today, she said, “I dunno, and she’s not my problem anymore.”

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Other judgements included: There’s this one mom who is… like, popular on Facebook.  She is friends with all the other moms and is a women’s empowerment entrepreneur or something.  She’s never said a word to me, which ironically leaves me feeling a little inadequate.  The introvert in me laughs.  The entrepreneur in me laughs.  I think I un-friended her several months ago.

Anyway, she was bitching about Thirteen’s teacher, indirectly.  With a Jersey accent.  She reminds me of that actress who played the Nanny in her namesake primetime TV slot from last decade.  Only she’s not quite as obnoxious.  In fact, she’s pretty quiet and I get the sense that she figures herself classy by saying, “The new teacher is SOOO much better for [insert her kid’s name here].”

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The hard part about being a judgmental asshole is that I have done the exact same thing (putting down the old by praising the new).  When talking about my new job.  Like, last month.

Sigh.

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Judgment three.

These kids are in dress clothes.  Slacks, dresses, bow ties, nails done.  My boy?  He’s in jeans and a Pink Floyd t-shirt.

Part 1: wants to high five him.  Part 2: wants to ignore it, at least he didn’t battle showing up and he’s a good kid otherwise.  Part 3: wants to point out that he looks different from everyone else and maybe next time he’s dealing with a dress code he should probably plan for it.

Part 3 won.  I’m ashamed to say it.  Though instead of giving him too much hell, we just tease him a bit and shrug it off.

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Observation:  I wasn’t the only knitter there.  A mom two rows behind us brought yarn and needles for herself and her two younger boys.   Another mom across the room had knitting, too.  We’re reviving a lost art.  A post-apocalyptic survival skill.

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In other news, the concert was phenomenal.  The few music instructors at the kids’ school are sublime.  Our first year there, concerts were painful.  Now, they’re amazingly enjoyable. No more icepicks to the eardrums!  Yay!

 

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