President's Day Tea

Tomorrow I go to my death. Willingly, I shall fall on the grenade.

Tomorrow is the much-anticipated annual "President's Day Tea" at my children's preschool. The title of which is rather misleading, because in my experience, there are no presidents (or tea) anywhere in sight. Nevertheless, that's what the invitation says, right between those yellow-brown smudges.

President's Day Tea is conducted yearly upon the occasion of, well, President's Day. On this occasion, the children prepare a light lunch of finger sandwiches and unidentifiable baked goods, and parents solemnly assemble to partake.

It is carried off with all the formality of High Tea, excepting that it's at 11:00 in the morning (if your child is in Mrs. S's class. ) Or noon (Mrs. P's class.)

Guess what?

This year I get to go TWICE.

(I know. I know. Should have thought of that approximately 3 years and 9 months ago. Mea Culpa.)

It seemed a charming idea at first. Really, it did.

Last year I was actually enthusiastic as I RSVPd to my 4-year-old with that twirly-hand bow so appropriate for such occasions.

Then I reconsidered that "children prepare" phrase, and remembered that these are preschool children. Fudgesicle-stained, nose-picking, finger-sucking children, some with persistently unchecked smoker's cough and dripping noses (those would be mine…aren't they cute?) Plus a fairly large percentage who seem to resent the requirement that they remove their hands from their pants for the occasion.

I went. I survived without contracting botulism. But such luck simply cannot hold.

This years' elaborate ceremony (certainly my last, if you don't count the funeral) is slated to take place under the north roof overhang by the giant tires. Unless it rains, in which case we get to line up in the hallway--so many smiling Jonestown residents, swirling our Kool-aid and suspiciously considering our platefuls of poison.

There will not be enough seats for the children AND the parents at the miniature picnic tables provided. Which is just as well, since last year they had to call out the jaws of death to remove one hapless father's long legs from their vise-like grip.

I'm guessing that the seats next to the trash barrels will go quickest, since children of that age are notoriously gullible when it comes to the "Look! A Raccoon!" distraction technique. Not to mention fake chewing and swallowing, and the Hail Mary napkin disposal fake-out.

Last year, my favorite food item was Cheetos. Though not traditional "high tea" fare, their processed nature seemed to suggest safety - or at least a slower kind of death. Until I spotted the child who'd apparently been put in charge of filling the bowl. And saw what parts of him were marked with the telltale orange.

My neapolitan "scone" had a gooey finger-mark face poked into it.

In all fairness, I should mention that the Hawaiian punch was pretty safe, comparatively speaking--though it bore not the slightest resemblance to actual tea. The children enjoyed adding fistfuls of sugar cubes to the punch bowl periodically. Sugar cubes covertly pinched from the coffee tray, stuffed in pockets that may (or may not) have also contained amphibians.

The taste bore remarkable resemblance to the "glucose tolerance test" liquid I took during pregnancy.

Really, the things we Moms do for our children!

Such as  (in my case) working an extra 20 freelance hours to come up with enough funds to bribe my husband to go in my stead...

Despite my sweet offer, he was immediately suspicious and ultimately declined. Fair enough. I guess someone's got to do the eulogy. Not to mention raise the children.

But what's he going to do NEXT year?