Mr. Jenners and I joke that episodes of Seinfeld relate to everything in life.
Park the car and forget where it is? Just like Seinfeld!
Wait a long time for a table at a restaurant? Just like Seinfeld!
Walk by a horse-drawn carriage near Central Park and hear it fart? Just like Seinfeld!
Build levels in your house? Just like Seinfeld!
The other day, I added another one to the list.
The Little One started Kindergarten this year. At Back to School night, his teacher talked about how much the kids love when their parents come into the classroom to help out, and she practically begged us for any time we could spare as things can get a little chaotic and she has to share an aide with the other kindergarten teacher.
Well, being a stay-at-home mom, I’m in a perfect position to help out from time to time. So I signed up and envisioned myself having fun with the kids and getting to live out my dream of being a teacher without actually have to get a degree or have real responsibilities.
Well, the day came for me to show up. They were making applesauce in class—the perfect time to come in and help out. I arrived on time and made my way to the classroom—giddy with anticipation. I opened the door. All 23 heads turned to look at me. I saw the Little One and he saw me and…
…he burst into tears and screamed “Get out of here! Go home! Leave!”
Not quite the reaction I was hoping for.
Everyone was stunned. The Little One could not be dissuaded. He kept demanding me to leave. The teacher said “I’ve never seen a kid react like that. They’re usually thrilled.” His classmates said “I would love to have my mommy come in. Why are you so upset?”
Nothing worked. No bribery. No promises that I would stay in the corner and not interact with him. Nothing.
Not wanting to disrupt the class, I left—feeling like the teacher was going to report me to Child Services because whose kid has a reaction like that?
When the Little One got home, I asked him why he didn’t want me there. He said “You’ll slow me down. You’ll distract me too much. I would want to talk to you and kiss you and give you hugs.”
When I told Mr. Jenners about what happened, he said “It’s just like that episode of Seinfeld—where Independent George and Relationship George mix together. It all falls apart. The Little One doesn’t want his worlds to collide.”
I have such mixed feelings about this. On one hand, I’m grateful he is feeling independent. On the other hand, I’m hurt he doesn’t want me there. But Mommy doesn’t give up that easily. Just like George Costanza, I’ll keep on trying.
The next week, there was a book fair and the librarian needed volunteers. I begged the Little One to let me work at it and he cautiously agreed. I said I wouldn’t talk to him or bother him in any way and that his teacher said she really really needed me. It went pretty well—except for the fact that one of the kids I was assigned was like a kid from a Seinfeld episode—the one with Jimmy who always talks about himself in the third person and wears those goofy sneakers? Yeah…I had that kid. He was crazy, and it made me reconsider why I wanted to help out at the school.
But the Little One agreed to let me be one of the chaperones for the field trip next week. I hope this means I’ve successfully insinuated myself into his classroom world a little bit.
If not, I bet I’ll end up in the Soup Nazi episode: