Throw the ball. Throw it or I swear to god I will make the rest of your life a living hell.

In an effort to take advantage of the many, many, MANY tax dollars we pay to the city each month, I signed my kids up for Parents as Teachers. 

Also on my list:  play on local elementary school playground, drive up and down Manchester and set fire to front yard.

Anyhoo, I was super excited for them to show up because I need some major help around here.

"Hi, how are you this morning?"  She asked as I let her in.

"Awesome,"  I said, putting on my coat and scarf.  I didn't want to waste time with small talk.  I was on my way to meet up with some of the third shifters at an early morning happy hour. 

"Where are you going?"

"Oh, right,"  I said.  "If the baby gets the shits, just put her in the tub, and the big one has started this thing where she bites the middle one when they get to wrastlin' over toys.  I usually just let 'em fight it out."

"Wait... you actually have to be here."

"Well what was all this 'Parents as Teachers' crap?"

"WE give YOU the tools to promote school readiness and the healthy development of your children.  We're not babysitters."

Eew, gross.  It was too late to fake not speaking English.

For two hours we sat on the playroom floor and I prayed to god that my kids didn't make me look like a douche.  This lady had a very official looking clip board and I wanted to win at being Mom. 

I found myself mentally willing them to do each of the developmental tasks on her list so hard I thought my brain might explode.

"Can you throw this ball to me?"  She asked Lila. 

I tell you, the invisible lightning bolts coming out of my head trying to telepathically control her hand to throw that ball in a perfectly straight line were intense. 

"Throw it, god dammit.  Throw the ball the best she's ever seen,"  I silently screamed in my head as I directed my brain waves toward her. 

"Well, maybe we'll try that one a little later,"  She laughed. 

"Oh yeah, no problem,"  I laughed breezily.

"Don't you screw this up for me, you little turd,"  I thought. 

As it turns out, my kids are all normal.  Pretty much.  Though I still think for the amount of money we shell out every month the city should send over a babysitter every once in a while.  Or at least a bottle of wine and some Xanax. 

Which are actually sort of the same thing.