Today was my son's sixth birthday.  At his school, the policy is that parents can bring in cookies OR cupcakes during the class's lunchtime.  Parents are also allowed to bring a "special" lunch for their child on their special day.

 So, late yesterday afternoon after homework was finished, my boys and I baked cupcakes.  About the time they came out of the oven, my younger son came into the kitchen with a thoughtful look on his face and said, "Mom, we made chocolate cupcakes.  Do you realize (yes, a  big word for a 3-year-old) that I don't like chocolate?  Are you making vanilla, too?"  I thought about it.  Twenty-four kids in the class meant I was banking on someone being absent or else little brother would not get a cupcake.  I also liked the idea of having extra cupcakes left over to have after dinner with our family.  So, I made vanilla cupcakes, too.  Then I painstakingly created Mario and Luigi decorations for each one.

Today at school, after the kids had eaten most of their lunch, I began doling out the treats.  I felt like an airline stewardess of days gone by: "Chocolate or vanilla?  Mario or Luigi? Would you like a beverage with that?" 

I got to one kid and asked if he wanted one.  His response was, "Is there weed in those cupcakes?"

After picking my jaw up off the floor, I asked him to repeat the question.  Again, he asked, "Is there weed in those cupcakes?"

I'll admit I had a rather sheltered upbringing, but I'm pretty sure I didn't know what "weed" was until at least 7th or 8th grade.

"No," I answered.

"I don't think I'd better have one," he replied, and shrugged me off. 

 I didn't think about it much right away, but later, on the way back home, I couldn't get over it.  A first grader, six years old, had asked if I drugged my son's birthday cupcakes.  My child, this boy's peer, came home from red ribbon week last year preaching the horrors of cigarettes and began counting his father's adult beverages on football Saturdays.  But he knows nothing of slang and brownies and baking drugs into food. 

I was mortified.  I called my husband and related the story to him.  He was mortified.  He asked if I had talked to the teacher.  I said 'No, should I?" 

He answered, "Yes....a child in A's class is accusing you of bringing drugs to school.  You need to report it so that it's on record and won't come back as an accusation against us, and you also need to report it to find out where this kid is learning about putting pot in cupcakes!"

"Can you call the teacher?" Chris asked. 

"Yes, but she won't get the message until later."

"Call Dr. C [the principal]," was his suggestion.

I agreed.  I was fired up at this point.

I got home and got my little one settled and was getting ready to make my phone call when the phone rang.  It was my husband.

"Hey," he said.  "I was talking to some people at work about this.  I have a question."

"Yes?"

"Are you sure he said 'weed' and not 'wheat'?"

(c) 2010 Lisa Kuebler

Picture was found here