Curriculum Night! Now with Ultra-Violent Zombie Mayhem!

Book #14 is World War Z: An Oral History of the Zombie War. I haven't gotten terribly far with it yet so I don't have much to tell you; I'm still trying to figure out the whole Zombie thing. What I've learned so far:

• Zombies bite a lot.
• Zombies are very focused - specifically, on braaaaiins.
• Dogs don't like zombies much. I suspect this may be true of other animals as well, and if any birds ever drop by for a bit of suet, I'll be sure to ask them.
• Zombies stand out in a crowd.
• Zombies scare the crap out of people.

Unfortunately, I didn't get much further than this because last night was curriculum night at Emma's new school. So our evening began with a rushed dinner, at which I tried to persuade my family that we should do family Halloween costumes this year: The three of us could go as Pride and Prejudice and Zombies. My husband insisted that "No one will get it. We'd have to wear signs."

I don't see a problem with this: Posterboard and markers? It'll be the cheapest Halloween ever.

But then Emma, the wee traitor, nixes the plan. "No. I want to be a witch. I've never been a witch before."

I bite my tongue.

Off to school we go. First we get an overview from the principal, then, a word from our Parent Association: Saturday night is the Heritage Festival! It's a potluck, please bring a dish to share that celebrates your heritage. There is talk about the lovely ethnic dishes people have brought in the past.

Here's the thing: I consider myself to be a generic American, and proud of it. And I could probably manage some representative dish, but there are issues with most of my ideas. For example, the school is a peanut-free environment, so I can't bring a tray of PB&J's on Wonder Bread. Should I bring some McDonald's and blame society for my weight problem? Honestly, my family has lived in the midwest for many generations: my heritage is jello molds at potlucks. Wait a minute, I can do this! I have a zombie brain jello mold. All I need is some green jello and gummy worms and here we come, potluck! 

Then we head into the classroom, which I refuse to call by its official name, a pod; I've seen Invasion of the Body Snatchers, I know how the pod thing works. Everyone is asked to introduce themselves and say what they enjoy doing most with their child. The fathers talk about finding things to do outdoors with their sons, to keep them from playing too many video games. Nearly everyone talks about reading with their child. Everyone else nods in approval. This is what good parents do. I am a good parent.

And then it's my turn, so I tell these other parents that my daughter and I read together, we cook together, we play games like Go Fish together.

This tongue-biting thing is working for me. I managed not to say that my daughter reads too much, so I try to distract her by playing online games with her in Webkinz World. I left out how I bribe her with new Webkinz from time to time, so that she will read less. Now, understand, she is fixated on the Warriors series by Erin Hunter, which I gather from the cover has something to do with cats, and she's to the point where I'm afraid she will start meowing instead of speaking.  Also, she likes to cook, so I buy her muffin mixes let her bake her own breakfasts; she made her own TV dinner before we came here tonight. Yes, I left that out too. You say bad nutrition; I say developing self-sufficiency. It's a fine line. I do supervise the oven part. 

I smile politely. Everyone smiles politely. Then we all focus our attention on the teacher, who gives us a handout discussing the education of the preadolescent braaaaaiiin.