The Chocolate Bar

I came to Boston for Mother's Day since the boys are back on Semester at Sea (without me which bites hugely). As we were planning the trip, my mom and I, she suggested we go to a Chocolate Brunch which they have at a very chi-chi hotel here in this lovely city. I thought, sure! I love mole, cocoa dusted scallops, and what a neat way to see how chefs get creative.

Wrong. A Chocolate Brunch is not a brunch at all. It's a dessert bar. With about five thousand different sickeningly sweet options. At first when faced with the Willy Wonka option, one feels dazzled and enthused. There was a crepe bar, make your own chocolate bar, cannolis, tarts, tortes, caramels, and pies. At the center was a fountain of chocolate in which you could dip pretzels, fruit, cake, and of course chocolate. Table after table was laden with sweets. Now to begin with I am not that much a chocolate person. I know so sue me. But since I don't get PMS (it's not that nice an option, ladies, I don't make any natural hormones so enjoy the PMS because it's better than what I've got.)

Diligently, my mom and I got a plate. I got a chocolate coconut torte piece, a salted caramel, a piece of guava paste (the only non chocolate item save the vanilla ice cream), a which chocolate carrot cake cupcake, a white chocolate fruit tart and a mini chocolate pecan tartlet. I then proceeded to have one bite of each. At that point I was overwhelmed with the knowledge that if I had a lot more of this I would have a sugar crash that was akin to the spaceship Discovery. So I went to the crepe bar to get a crepe with some fruit.

But the crepes were all chocolate. With chocolate in them. Or nutella. Which is chocolate. I could already feel the sugar high beginning to make me queasy, but there was pressure to eat because it was $40 a person. So I headed to the ice cream section where I managed to locate vanilla ice cream. Which sucked. I was assured by one geriatric woman the chocolate ice cream was much better. DAMN chocolate!!! Even the freaking cotton candy was chocolate dipped.

I decided to try to go back to the other tables. I'd seen some fruit there. But even these were so sweet they made your teeth hurt. So I ordered a chamomile tea with lime and called it a dessert.

But here's the baffling thing. We were surrounded by people who had brought children. Now call me crazy but bringing small children to candyland is asking for trouble. It's a little like adding jet fuel to a paper airplane. It's going to work great for a short amount of time and then you are bound for explosion and destruction. On our way out, I over hear a woman apologizing to her mother or mother in law that little Reginald (not his real name) was usually such a sweet well behaved child. She just didn't understand what had gotten into him. Maybe it was all the excitement. No you dumb bitch! Maybe it was the toddler PCP equivalent: chocolate.

What to eat...

Ricardo left this morning with an admonishment. He said, "Be sure to eat something other than Special K and popcorn." He wasn't joking either.

You see I am on my own for two glorious days. And during that time I will probably eat only popcorn and Special K. The Kid is in our illustrious capital and will then be making his stately progress to a historically important city in the northeast of our country to spend time with my mother. Ricardo is working. And I am alone.

And I will probably not cook the whole time they are gone. And that even means toasting (but not mixing Lipton's Onion Soup mix dip, or air popping the popcorn).

So my question is, if I put strawberries on the Special K, eat onion soup mix dip, and whoppers, does this mean I have fulfilled my promise?

So much for thinking I'm going to the gym this week. Fuck that shit. I'm going to bed!

Today was the crown jewel in the tiara of shit that was my week.

For reasons I won't get into in this forum, the math teacher on my team has been reassigned to another part of the building. This left Anna and me to hold the fort. Which was fine. Except for the Anna being 39 weeks pregnant part.

Last Sunday morning, I am thrilled to say, she gave birth to a completely adorable son, looked far better than I did that afternoon despite the fact she'd been in labor for 20 hours and hadn't slept yet while I had gotten a solid 10 hours the night before. She and her husband seem deliriously happy and I am so excited for them that I have a hard time not calling every day to hear how the baby is.

But I digress. You see, shortly before this gorgeous baby joined the population of Central Svalbard and Jan Mayen, we were helping the kids get adjusted to our new math teacher who is a lovely gal but who the kids are giving, how shall we say, a massive shit sandwich every day. Things were improving a little when Anna went into labor.

So now it's me and two subs on the third grade team. This is fine because both are nice people and work hard and are very easy to get along with and work with. But here's the super weird part. And I don't know why I find it weird, because I should have expected it. All the kids come to me only.

So here's how this works. I'm at recess and there's a fight. The kids come to me. Someone wants to show me their poem. They come to me. A girl finds there is graffiti in the girls' restroom, she comes to me (even when she's in another class mind you).

Walking into the cafeteria I have a small glimpse of what it is to be Brad Pitt. They flock to me like I am a Jonas Brother. Like they are all premenstrual and I am a fountain of chocolate fondue. Like I am the last keg during March Madness. The last well in the Sahara Desert (We are in fact studying Mali right now).

"Can I go to the bathroom?"
"Can I take her place cleaning the tables?"
"Can I dump my trash?"
"Tyshaun was eating with his mouth open."
"Molly didn't eat her lunch."
"I have to go to the office."
"My tooth is loose. Want to see?" The answer to which is always no because while blood does not bother me, teeth I find preternaturally disgusting.

So then I get them in line and we get back to the rooms. And all is well. But it's not because the ones who are not with me start to get all feisty.

Monday was ok. Rocky and 1,000 questions from the sub, but ok. The one class ate the math teacher with fava beans and a nice Chianti. But we got through it. Lots of time out at recess.

Tuesday it accelerated. Now it was a whole collection of silent lunch sitters. But nothing too too out of control.

Wednesday there were some serious Come to Jesus Talks. This is when I take the child aside and explain how it's going to be and what will happen. There are often tears. Usually appologies. Always hugs and then promises.

Yeah. So much for the promises. Thursday two of my boys got in a fight and got suspended.

Today there was no snow (oh how I longed for a two hour delay!!) so the kids came in pissed and ready to rumble. They amped and amped until there was a problem in one class with an assistant and now I am down to me. And two subs. But mostly me. The pincushion of questions and nagging.

I say this with a certain level of bewilderment. Because in my room, there is calm. There is work, there is laughter. In my room we read together, we talk and we tell gross stories (because they love that stuff). But as soon as we leave the room it's like we've entered the Twilight Zone.

But I realized what was happening. Basically the deal is this. I am a single parent of 51. And then I come home 4 days a week to be a single parent of 1. And this is a little tiring. So I think it is time that I do what most single parents do and drink more heavily. And if that isn't what they do, I don't want to know so don't tell me!!!