Helping Apparently

So there I am - the "helping parent" at 3 year old Shaw's preschool from 12:30 to 3 on a Wednesday afternoon.  Every parent is the "helping parent" two or three times over the school year and my time has come.  Shaw gets pretty excited about the whole thing because it means that at "line up time" she gets to ring the bell and lead the line to recess.  This is the privilege afforded to the child of the helping parent and is lithely accompanied by not an insignificant amount of cache´amongst the preschool peerage.


  An hour and half in, we spend 20, 35 minutes getting the three year olds and their three year old bodies crazily overbundled into snow pants and boots and  arctic grade mittens and scarves and hats that are completely unnecessary in the current New Jersey thaw,  but speak volumes of overzealous mothers assuaging primal fears of the precious bundles and thermal insulating the cherished young flesh to within an inch.  After much wrestling and wrangling and coaxing we get the tiny astronauts stuffed properly, encased entirely, and walk them the 20 yards to the playground, each of their 3 year old bodies breaking immediately into earnest sweat in the 50º heat. Mrs. X, (Shaw's teacher) tells me to go back inside to get my jacket, which I'd left inside and I acquiesce if only to enjoy a tiny brain break even though I think it feels great out there. I go back and get the jacket and get a drink out of the drinking fountain and return.





Naples, (not the three year old male's real name) has peed his snow pants. Would I take him back into the classroom and change him? Of course. 

"C'mon Buddy." 

I have received instructions from Mrs. X on the location in the classroom of the extra underpants and trousers that are stowed for just such emergencies. I walk Naples in the room. He having walked slowly and straight legged all the way up the stairs and down the hall verifying who I am repeatedly. 

"You're Shaw's Daddy.  Shaw's Daddy."  

We get to Mrs. X's classroom.  I take off his boots, his coat, his hat, his mittens. I remove his wet pants, his urine soaked socks, his underpants and ready the school provided replacement garments.





He sees the foreign, unknown underwear and freaks. What is called in the parenting world the Total Meltdown. 

"NOOOOOO!" No underwear!" 

I'm like, "Ok. We'll just put the pants on then"

 
"NOOOOOOOO!"  

Hot, hot tears and snot and panic erupting and he suddenly bolts from the classroom full bore, pantless, underpantless, sockless, sprinting headlong, shrieking down the hallway, cold bare feet thumping the carpet;  any way, any possible path away from me and beelines straight for the administrative offices.

I leap into gear, catch up with him and sweep him up in my helping parent arms and whisk him, writhing back to the classroom.





He refuses to put on the underpants or pants.  He runs around the room pulling toys out and throwing books off the shelves. Crying "Mommmmm!" 

We are beyond reason, though I attempt it a couple of times:  "Look Naples, we have to wear something."  

"NOOOOOOOOO!"

I can't force the pants on him, sort of out bounds in my job description and dangerous territory.  I can't get to Mrs. X, blissfully unaware, in the playground. I don't have her phone number on my cell. 

So me and Naples just have to wait out recess until reprieve, the calvary, arrives.



  I sit in the tiny pre school chair, my knees up by my chest and Naples wails, shrieks and throws toys.

I've been watching House of Cards, the Neflix remake with Kevin Spacey.

Brilliant.  There is a convention in the piece wherein Kevin Spacey will look off

his shoulder and directly address a soliloquy into camera.  It's very effective

device and I've been indulging in it myself during my days.  I did one of these 

at this point. I Looked over my left shoulder and addressed the imaginary

camera while Naples bawled and yelped.





           



"I can't understand why anyone would want to do this for a living. I mean, God knows I love the children, and am a pretty patient man. But I am not cut out for this. This is duty. This sucks. This is unacceptable."





Naples shrieks and screams and pulls a bean bag chair over himself. I sit.  Eventually Mrs. X and the class comes sweatily trudging back and Mrs .X  gets Mrs. Y (the director of the preschool) to dress Naples... forcibly. He yowls and shrieks and eventually calms. He accepts the foreign trousers.  He joins the rest of us for juice, strawberries and popcorn. 

Naples takes me in, popcorn stuck on his lip, dried tear streams and snot; breathes and says, "You're Shaw's daddy."  

"Yep."



Cheeseburger Wontons
For 60 wontons: 
1lb. Cream Cheese, 
15 pieces of chopped bacon, 
1lb. Ground Beef, 
6oz gorgonzola cheese 
one half jumbo yellow onion (sautéed & diced)

Mix ingredients in a large bowl.  Add a half-tablespoon per wonton.

Drop in 350 degree oil for 3-5 minutes or until golden brown. Remove and strain from oil. Salt & serve plain or with a dipping sauce.

                                         Wonton Wrappers

• 1 egg
• 3/4 teaspoon salt
• 2 cups all-purpose flour
• 1/3 to 1/2 cup water, as needed
• Extra flour as needed

Lightly beat the egg with the salt. Add 1/4 cup water.

Sift the flour into a large bowl. Make a well in the middle and add the egg and water mixture. Mix in with the flour. Add as much of the remaining water as necessary to form a dough. (Add more water than the recipe calls for if the dough is too dry).

Form the dough into a ball and knead for about 5 minutes, or until it forms a smooth, workable dough. Cover and let rest for 30 minutes. Turn the dough out onto a lightly floured surface. Roll out until very thin, and cut into 3 1/2-inch squares. Store in a plastic bag in the refrigerator or freezer until ready to use.