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Fiction Short Story

by Lori Law

Preschool

The problem with sending Katie to the prestigious Academy of Advanced Preschool Studies wasn't the outrageous tuition. Her father paid that. It wasn't the ridiculous name of the school, though I found it to be an oxymoron that ranked right up there with 'Reagan memoirs'. The problem wasn't the curriculum, or the teachers, or the kids. The problem was the moms. Janelle came to be my least favorite of them. She wore the pinched expression of a terrier, and dressed in sleek silk suits, even on her days to volunteer at the school. Unaware that silk was proper finger painting attire, I'd arrived in jeans. I'm pretty sure Janelle was also a founding member of the My Kid's Better Than Yours Club, to which I'd declined membership. Still, I felt the need to be civil to these people. Katie would be here awhile at the insistence of her father, Mr. Man About Town. Unfortunately for him, he was Mr. Man About Town with any woman who had a pulse, and on the fast track to unmarried. Regrettably, I was stuck being the misfit mom at the Academy for Pompous and Over-Privileged Parents, which is what the school should rightly have been named.

"Which one's yours?" Janelle asked.

Let the small talk begin, I thought. I pointed out the window at the little blond with flyaway hair. "Katie," I answered. She was on top of the jungle gym, a suspicious purple stain on her white shirt. I guessed she'd pilfered the grape jelly again, and made a mental note to check her backpack.

Janelle nodded, and graced me with forced smile.

"And yours?" My turn to feign interest.

"Elizabeth," she replied.

"Ah." She needed to say no more. Elizabeth had earned preschool notoriety for being such a proper, lovely young lady. Elizabeth. Not Beth, or Lizzy, or even Liz. Elizabeth. She wore a lacy pink number, sans grape jelly accessories. Her sleek hair was pulled back into the latest debutant designer braid. I had to bribe Katie with fruit snacks just to let me brush her hair. Getting it into a doo like that would have required a tranquilizer dart. Curari maybe. But not Elizabeth. She was the pinnacle of preschool haute couture. She was also Katie's new best friend.

"She's three, but she's in the four year old class," Janelle gloated.

"Yeah, so's Katie. I think all the three year olds are in the four year old class." I laughed. "It appeases us parents."

"Yes. Well…" Her terrier face went from pinched to puckered, until she resembled a pug. Apparently, my insight was unappreciated.

"So what does your husband do?" she asked.

"Gallivants about town with women other than myself.  He is soon to be my ex-husband."  Again, the pug face.  Not welcome information.  Damn my mouth. "He's a physician," I said.

"Yours?" I asked.

"He's CEO of a medical supply company," she informed me, as if she'd climbed the corporate ladder herself.

I changed the subject, hoping to save myself. "Today must be your snack day?" I gestured toward the basket she'd clutched since we entered into this little foray of forced camaraderie. Janelle beamed. I'd stumbled upon the right topic, at last. Persistence had paid off.

"They're all natural date muffins sweetened with applesauce," Janelle said.

I figured those to be just above cardboard on the food pyramid, especially if you were a preschooler, but I maintained my new resolve. Janelle glowed with sanctimonious pride. I'd have sworn, in that moment, she was channeling Martha Stewart. Before the unfortunate arrest and subsequent incarceration, of course.

"I only use natural sweeteners. We don't believe in sugar." She said it like some people say they don't believe in Santa, or the tooth fairy, as if questioning the very existence of sugar. Too tired for such metaphysical musings, my resolve slipped fast.

"Really? I do," I said.

She smiled, but her expression went from pug to puzzled, more dachshund-like now. She was clearly confused by my failure to concur with her stance on processed food stuffs. Maybe she thought we'd at last found a common ground.

"Honestly, the more sugar the better, I say.”

Her smile turned complacent. A bit patronizing actually. Back to terrier. We'd come full circle.

"You can't be serious," she said.

"I can," I really wasn't committed to any ideology closely tied to sugar, but now I wanted to win. "In fact, tomorrow is my snack day and I'm thinking of bringing a ten-pound bag of the refined white stuff."

A crimson flush crept up her neck.

"The kids'll LOVE it," I said.

Her red face could've warmed those stupid muffins.

I figured this was about as close to winning as I dared get.  The next step would be watching her head explode, likely sending a high velocity spatter of gray matter against the life-sized mural of Little Bo Peep.  That, coupled with the bloodstain on the carpet, would have left an inescapable trail that pointed straight to me. I opted to take my leave of my newfound friend and join in circle time.  Besides, I hated to miss a rousing chorus of Wheels on the Bus.

Much to my dismay, I ran into Janelle that very afternoon at the Mike's Food Mart. It seemed we were indeed out of grape jelly, the bulk of it having been consumed sometime between breakfast and circle time.  I'd have liked to catch Janelle surreptitiously slipping vast quantities of sugar into her cart, but damned if she wasn't down the organic food isle like a proper Academy mom. I had just come from the "No Natural Additives" isle with a cart full of frozen pizzas, individually wrapped cheese-flavored slices, and fruit snacks that sullied the name of fruit.  And grape jelly, of course.   I looked straight ahead, fixated on the end display of strawberry Yoohoo, hoping to go unnoticed and avoid another opportunity to exchange recipes and venom.

"Momma!  It's Lizbeth!" said Katie, clapping her pudgy toddler hands together in jubilation.

I really wasn't up for another round.  Winning the last one about did me in.  And I couldn't help but wonder if 'pit bull' wasn't somewhere in Janelle's canine repertoire.  But Katie adored Elizabeth nearly as much as she adored grape jelly.

Resigned to my fate, we made our way toward them.  Elizabeth still looked perfect.  Thankfully, Janelle still looked like a terrier.

"Hello again, Janelle," I said.  "How nice to run into you."  With a truck, I wanted to add.

"Hello," she replied, her gaze somewhere over my left shoulder, as if making eye contact might cause me to attack.  Or perhaps the Yoohoo pyramid fascinated her too.  Fortunately, our girls were having a much more pleasant go of it, chattering away about their respective shopping cart contents.

"We got carrots," Elizabeth said. "You got carrots?"

"Nope.  We gots peeetza," said Katie.

"We got apples," said Elizabeth.

"We gots grape jelly," said Katie. "I love grape jelly!" she added with enthusiasm only three year olds are capable of. At least with regard to grape jelly.  Much to the consternation of Janelle, who was back to pug, Katie’s verve was contagious.

"Momma!  Can we get some?"  Elizabeth asked.

"No dear.  We don't eat that." The puckered pug was back, but at least we were spared pit-bull.

"Puleeze, Momma?"

"But it is the bestest ever!" Katie insisted.

To Katie, I knew, life without a daily dose of grape jelly was an unfathomable injustice.

"But it isn't GOOD for you," Janelle explained to my daughter.

 Katie looked incredulous.  Elizabeth looked ladylike. And perfect. And sad. Suddenly I didn't care so much about winning. I cared about Katie. And Elizabeth. And grape jelly.


About the Author
Lori Law lives and writes in Colorado, where she enjoys hiking in the mountains. She is raising two teenagers, who were formerly preschoolers. Lori can be contacted at co_lori@lycos.com.