Thursdays are "special snack" day at my son's pre-school.  The children take turns bringing goodies from home, and I always try to make Winston's correspond to something they're learning in class.  "W" is their letter for this week, and it took some time to come up with something acceptable for a snack.  We settled on whole-wheat muffins with walnuts and white chocolate, and white grape juice to drink. 

So this morning had me hauling all of this stuff into Winston's room.  He ran ahead of me into his classroom: two jugs of juice, my keys, his backpack, and his brother were slowing me down.  When I got inside, I was met with the booming voice of a man I had never seen, but was apparently the father of a little girl in Winston's class.  He proceeded to high-five my son in a rather dramatic fashion while I stood behind him.  He never made eye-contact with me even though he was Touching My Kid. 

I'm trying to get to the hook to hang up the backpack when he mentions something about the inauguration.  I freeze.  There is some kind of party being planned, and the venue is booked on that day.  After this, his comments become just barely socially acceptable.  He shudders at thinking about inauguration day, "Oooh Scary!".  My face is getting hot, it's a curse, but I can't help it.  Red-faced I turn so I can watch him talk without him seeing me, it's not like he ever saw me come in with all the stuff in my hands and two kids anyway.  "Yeah, we WERE going to go to Washington for the inauguration...."  My son's teacher's face lights up, that is why I love her.  She is about to tell him how exciting that will be when he says, "On no!  I was just kidding!  We don't want to be there for THAT!".  And, like the wonderful woman that she is, Winston's teacher says, "well that would have been a wonderful experience!!".  The man finally sees me standing there and I'm giving him a DEATH GLARE.  He leaves, thank God. 

(my hands are actually shaking while I'm writing this.  HULK SMASH!!!!)

I called my husband as soon as we were in the parking lot.  You know, after I came back out to my van, to bring in the homemade muffins I made for the kids.  Little does that father know that they are full of Obama-love juice.  The husband and I both agreed that if comments like that are ever made again in front any of the children at our son's school, that the teacher/director will be notified.  There is no place for that at a PRE-SCHOOL, especially in a 3 year old classroom full of Martin Luther King Jr. posters!!!

He never even noticed the little girl in the Che Guevara shirt crying.  Her parents are democrats, with Obama stickers all over their van.  "Hi, sweet girl!  Your shirt is so special, did you know that?", I tugged on her sleeve, big tears falling from her big blue eyes.  Instantly the daughter of the rude Republican rips open her jacket and sticks out her chest, "look at my shirt!!!".  I turn, and look.  It's white, surprise, surprise, and there is a tiny silver cross on a chain around her neck.  I tell her it's beautiful, because she is a very spunky, sweet girl, but I have to look away.  Their number this week is eight...  That seems rather fitting as well.