I'm Lindsay Ferrier, a Nashville writer with a passion for family travel, exploring Tennessee, and raising kids without losing my mind in the process. This is where I share my discoveries, along with occasional deep thoughts, pop culture tangents and a sprinkling of snark. Want to get in touch? Use the CONTACT form at the top of the page.
January 28, 2011
>”Mommy, sometimes Mary is really nice and sometimes she’s a bully,” Punky said thoughtfully last night as I was getting the kids ready for bed.
“How is she a bully?” I asked.
“Well, I tried to play with her and some of the other girls on the playground,” Punky said, “but she said I couldn’t because I wasn’t in their club.”
“So what did you do?”
“I just went and sat down at the edge of the playground,” Punky said.
“By yourself?”
“Yeah.”
“And did you feel sad?”
“Well yeah, but I don’t feel sad anymore because later, she let me in the club. Because sometimes, she can be really nice. So she said she’d squeeze me in.”
I raised my eyebrows. Clubs? In first grade? Really?
“I mean, I don’t even know what to think!” I told two moms in the shampoo aisle at Publix this morning after I’d dropped the kids off at school. (Our local Publix, I’ve found, serves a useful function as a free parenting advice center if you hit the beauty and personal care aisles right after drop-off time.) “Clubs! In first grade!”
“Oh, it only gets worse,” one mom said. “Wait until second grade. That’s when the boys get involved.”
“And then third grade is when it all goes to hell,” the other mom said. “Did you hear what happened with the school dance?”
“You mean when that DJ came and played music in the hallway during the fundraiser?” I asked.
“That’s the one,” she said. “We just thought it would be fun to have a DJ for the kids to do the limbo or something. Only the third graders decided it was a boy-girl dance, and you had to have a date to go.” The moms laughed wryly like seasoned soldiers comparing tours of duty. “What a mess,” one of them said, shaking her head at the other. “The tears. The drama.”
“Third grade?” I whispered.
“But that’s nothing compared to fifth grade, when they get to junior high,” the mom continued. “Jeffrey came home from school and wanted to know what ‘orgy’ and ‘threesome’ meant. Apparently, one of the kids in his class has no Internet restrictions.”
“Mia asked what an abortion was just yesterday,” the other mom said. “And last week, I had to explain ‘friends with benefits.’ That was an interesting conversation.”
We said our goodbyes and I walked out of Publix in a daze. Was this what I had to look forward to over the next four years? Dating troubles? Questions about orgies and threesomes and friends with benefits?
Suddenly, home school is looking like a great option. So is the Norwegian archipelago of Svalbard, where it takes two days by boat to get to the nearest city. Surely there aren’t any first grade clubs in Svalbard.
Anyone know of a good Norwegian real estate agent?
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