Oodles of Noodles

I have zero doubt that we are on a special radar at school. Red flagged. The Underdaddy children are subject to shenanigans and special trips to the principal’s office a couple of times each year. It’s fine. At least they are making a mark.

So far we have visited for:

Fear of Alien Abduction

Hearing Voices

Random Excessive Crying

Bullying and the Fallout

Defacing a Religious Text

Attention Deficit Disorder

Sassy Preteen Mouth

 

Our legend gets passed by word of mouth and each new teacher is given a briefing from the teacher before. “Bless your heart, I had that one last year…” or “She is a little eccentric but really sweet. Good luck.” I’m not certain of this but people are people and the teacher’s lounge is like any other water cooler gossip spot.

But never in the disarray that is our life did I think that we were giving off a vibe of abject poverty. My kids are malnourished but it is through their own personal choice. They only eat whatever things they can confirm that we don’t actually have. If I only have Mac and Cheese, they want Hot Dogs. If I have Hot Dogs they want Mac and Cheese. They exist on juice and imagined injustices.

And I will admit that some mornings we don’t all roll out the door looking polished and primed for the day. Maybe someone has a ring of Oreo Pop Tart around the mouth. Maybe someone’s hair escaped a brushing. Same for teeth occasionally. These are signs of being behind the schedule, not of being poor.

I wonder what stories my children are sharing at school?

Whatever the cause, fast forward or err… rewind to a few days ago and Prima sets her backpack on the counter. Inside the backpack are some generic cans of tomato and chicken noodle soups along with some instant noodles.

 

UD: What are these honey? (Holding up a can)

Prima: (Shrugs her shoulders) Someone put it in my locker.

UD: Why?

Prima walks off as if I wasn’t talking to her. Her sister walks in.

Jane: They do it randomly for kids who need it.

UD: Okay well, that isn’t random. That is targeted and how did it get in her locker?

Jane: The guidance counselor does it sometimes. I’ve seen her.

UD: Does she know whose locker she is leaving surprises in?

Jane: Yeah. Probably.

UD: Sooo… they think we are not feeding you guys?

Prima returns to the room.

Prima: I like these noodles they gave me.

UD: That’s not the point. And don’t walk off on me while I’m trying to talk with you. There are other kids who probably need these noodles.

Prima: Can I eat them?

UD: No! Maybe. I don’t know. (Turning to Supermom who just walked into the room) Can you return angel tree food? I don’t know the rules.

Prima: I’m eating the noodles.

Jane: I’m eating the Ravioli.

UD: I’ll eat the Ramen.

Supermom: No! This food is for the children.

UD: For our children apparently.

Supermom: No! Maybe… I don’t know. Put it in the pantry.

 

So now we have nonperishable food items for our underserved children to heat up and leave sitting in a bowl on the table while the go play their Nintendo Switch and wait for me to pour it out later into the garbage disposal.

If you have been on the receiving side of a community act of compassion then this post is for you. We are going to try and notch up our hygiene and nutrition plans since we are sending poverty vibes. I wouldn’t mind if it were true but I lament the fact that someone actually needs these things and they got sent home with a clan of children who have complete meltdowns over the wrong kind of juice or getting denied two types of meat in one meal. Example: Lady Bug requested a bologna sandwich with a side of hot dogs. She is a terrible vegan and, obviously, a princess accustomed to luxury in her processed meat selection.

-Underdaddy to the rescue.

4 comments

  1. Are you sure your kids aren’t spreading tales to get goodies? I only ask because my best friend growing up made a habit of going to the neighbor’s house and crying she was hungry, so she could get cookies. My friend and her family were far from poor and there was plenty of food in the house, but the neighbor was an elderly lady who fresh-baked really good cookies. This little plan worked out well, until my friend also told the neighbor that her dad “beat” hear (she meant he beat her at card games). The neighbor then, being concerned about the welfare of the family next door, called Social Services. A visit from the agency ensued, during which all the kids were made to strip for inspection of any scars or bruises. The kids were, of course, all in good health and not damaged in any way. My friend’s visits to the neighbor were stopped immediately, and she got a huge lecture on lying. She was lucky she didn’t live in my house – my mom probably would have beat me for causing such embarrassment.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Lol. That is a wild misunderstanding story. Yeah I heard from the teacher (who is also a reader) that it was an honest mixup. I’m going to be making up a return basket. I ate the chicken noodle soup for lunch today.

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