One thing I originally thought was weird but that I’m super into now is that Remmy is required to write with a fountain pen at her school. A super fancy buy-the-ink-cartridges-separately fountain pen. Had it been my preference, I would have thrown a box of Bic Stics in her backpack and called it a day.
They totally won me over with their reasoning, though. Writing, they say, is an art. The written word is important. They want their students to respect that and take care of their pens – a fountain pen, as you might know, is not as low maintenance as a clicky-click pen from the local tanning salon, but when used well, it writes beautifully. And while a lot of schools have removed cursive writing from their curriculum, Remmy’s school reveres it as an important art.
Like, I’m standing up right now with my Merriam-Webster dictionary over my heart, waving palm fronds in the air because I love that.
Remmy, my sweet kindergartner, gave me a “world’s best mom” award on Mother’s Day. (If you guys got the same one, I assure you yours is probably fraudulent and there has been talk of an underground counterfeit award ring among elementary school students and you should likely be concerned that your child is involved in criminal activity.)
I got it and I was like sniff sniff, Rem, I love it.
She’s totally getting the hang of the fountain pen, and I love the portrait of the two of us doing the Wobble. (I’m just going to assume that we’re doing the Wobble.)
But then… but then I saw a list to the right. There’s a “mom checklist” where your child can check off all of the wonderful things you are. So I scanned the list, and I’d like to point out two things she did not check off.
I could devote an entire This is How I Feel to exactly how I felt.
Remmy, have I picked you up from school wearing Crocs?
Remmy, have I ever done the macarena at your school dance?
Remmy, wouldn’t the world’s best mom be cool and funny, too?
My award is a lie. *sobs*
Despite my faux melodrama, I think it’s hysterical that this ALREADY STARTS with the kindergarten set. The night before, I had taken the girls to a carnival and noticed that I was standing there, handbag slung over my shoulder, holding a pile of discarded kid-sweatshirts and a large bag of cotton candy, wearing leather sneakers and singing along to the band doing a cover of Rusted Root, and I was just like… okay I get it now.
I’m cool on the inside, Remmy.