Fuck Parents’ Night.

When I signed Diva up for a parents’ run kindergarten, every other mother I knew warned me against it.

“It’s too much work.”

“The parents are demanding.”

“No, really, those parents are insane.”

But I wanted to be a part of the day care process. I wanted to stay involved in Diva’s life so I did it. I applied for a spot at a tiny parents’ run kindergarten and I put on the old song and dance at an interview and I got one of the much-coveted spots at a nearby Eltern Verein.

At first, it was great. It still is. But now I know what all those warnings were about. I’m not one of the people involved in the day-to-day operations and I’m not elected to a post so I don’t have to handle human resources or budgetary concerns, but it is exhausting. Not because of the work. The parents. Ugh, the parents.

As part of the official bureaucracy behind the parents’ run kindergarten, we have to have meetings every month. More often if there’s an issue. The people on the board meet even more frequently, so I know I dodged a bullet by not having to run the show. But these parents nights are the absolute worst. There are all sorts of jokes about them online. The writer Juli Zeh put together a bullshit bingo card for parents’ nights at her kids’ school and though kindergarten’s a bit different, it gives you some idea of what these discussions entail.

ElternabendbullshitbingoAt our kindergarten, thankfully, there are a few things written into the founding constitution that make some of these discussions obsolete. We can only serve vegetarian food. The kids can only wear slippers inside. They go outside every day.

I’ve had friends who’ve wasted hours of their time at these meetings because someone wants to serve only organic food and another person is against paying the extra 20 bucks a month it costs for only organics. I had another friend whose kindergarten completely imploded because the manager was incompetent and the employees were bullying each other but none of the parents could agree on which employees to fire when and how to do it according to German law. And while it was imploding, one of the parents embezzled a huge chunk of money, bankrupting the kindergarten. So I am definitely thanking my lucky stars to have found such a nice place for diva to spend her days.

But as it is, even when things are going well, people can still find stuff to bitch about. And that’s why these parents’ nights suck so royally. We spend hours every month debating the stupidest shit. Can we build a new bench on the playground? What can we plant in the garden? Are the kids getting outside enough? Shouldn’t we be teaching them English — or French — or Swahili?

The longer that I’ve been there, the more difficult it’s become to bear. It could be that my rose-colored glasses have come off or it could be that the mood at the kindergarten has changed but either way, what at first felt neat and quaint and cozy has devolved into a night I dread every month. It doesn’t help that my social anxiety prevents me from behaving in large groups. I do great one-on-one. I can give speeches to rooms filled with hundreds of people no problem. Put me in a room with a dozen people I have to see again and I will stick my foot in my mouth so hard and act like such a major bitch that even my friends pretend not to know me in the moment. I literally ask when we can all head to the bar and grab some whiskey even though I don’t drink and I deplore bars. That’s how bad my anxiety gets.

And for some reason, two of the other mothers have recently taken the idea of the kindergarten being a democratically-run institution too far, insisting that every time they don’t get their way, we have to put it to a vote. “All in favor of singing Backe Backe Kuchen every morning at breakfast, say aye.” It drives me fucking insane. And of course, in full anxiety mode, I don’t even bother to hide my disdain at this bullshit. So instead of playing nice with the other mummies, I roll my eyes and say, “Das kann ja doch nicht dein ernst sein?” It’s my favorite German phrase because even if it’s not grammatically correct, it gets the point across: “You cannot be fucking serious?” I may be American and Amis may have invented democracy as we know it but sometimes, seriously, we need a dictatorship. Someone who will stand up and say, “We’re singing pattycake at breakfast from now on, Mamacitas, so deal with it.”

Last month, it got so bad that three of the dads just got up in the middle of the meeting and were like, yo this is over, let’s go watch the football game. Which, irksome though it may have been at the time, seems to have been genius. Because without a platform, some ideas just go unaired and maybe it’s better that way.

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5 thoughts on “Fuck Parents’ Night.

  1. Dan October 10, 2014 / 5:21 am

    Two minor points:

    1. Too my feeble knowledge of the fine German language there is nothing wrong with your phrase.
    2. Saying the Americans “invented” democracy is a bit of an insult to many great Greek and French thinkers. 😉

    Have a nice Friday and weekend getting a rest from these “Power-Muttis”

  2. barbtaub October 10, 2014 / 10:42 am

    I can’t read the ‘bingo’ card, but I don’t have to. Been there, got the T-shirt. Got LOTS of T-shirts actually. Back in the day before we realized that our kids came out basically as the people they were going to be and our parental influences would have little impact, we signed our kids up for suzuki violin lessons with little fiddles the size of portable phones, we put up “teach your baby to read” flashcards all over the house, we even played Mozart to their captive in-utero little selves. And we joined a parent coop nursery school. (Remember the part about the T-shirts?) Your post brought back some of the most excruciatingly painful moments of my life—the parent meetings. I finally broke after we’d spent over two fucking hours that I’ll never get back discussing…vacuuming. Did parents do a satisfactory job on their assigned cleaning rotation? (Did we need a committee to develop guidelines?) Was the vacuum adequate? (Maybe a committee to investigate and report back?) Should we have (yet another) fund drive to procure a new vacuum? (A job for the Building, the Upkeep, or the Parent Committee? Maybe a committee to determine which committee?)

    “Please,” I begged. “Please can’t I just give you some money and go home?”

    Finally, we did the only thing I could think of to solve the problem. We moved across the country and enrolled the kids in a fee-based school. With paid cleaners. Not one of them has (so far) grown up to be an ax-murderer. There were still T-shirts though.

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