Hands up, who’s ever heard of a yaya papaya. It’s slang for aloof, proud person. Of the kind who might introduce themselves on the playground, “Hello, and my child goes to This Expensive Private School.” Or a whole football team (Manchester United are still some of the yaya-est of papayas that one time I watched them demolish the competition to win 3 titles umpteen years ago.)
I find affirmation (and the hope of friendship) sharing a waiting room (and recently, with other ESF mums, play or other dates) before it’s time to go up for our school volunteer slots one day. Us, who reassure each other amid the pressure of umpteen super-expensive private school uniforms running around our neighborhoods, that we have made the best decision for our children. Us, who in swapping ESF success stories and Scary Private School stories, keep each other from the Crazy That’s Out There Threatening To Overwhelm All Us Parents Who Love Our Children And Wonder If We’re Making The Right Choices In Hong Kong.
Affirming each other can only be good for us all. Our kids go to school together. It is in everyone’s best interests that everyone’s children’s schoolmates aren’t high strung pressure-cooked kids. Freaked-out overwhelmed parents risk passing that on to the kids – everyone breathes the same air at home.
(But girls will still be girls. Some of us can’t help flicking a gaze over what each other are wearing, albeit there be no Intention To Meow in it – shallow and insecure (about my parenting choices in Hong Kong – so different from what I grew up with) that I am, I feel as comforted by the diamond studs (1 carat, at least), Rolexes and Chanel as the neat as a pin matching track tops and bottoms and Nike/ Adidas bags (nylon i/o leather = can tote lots more about without hurting your back).
I find affirmation in both – the diamonds and swanky home address says to me I’m One Of Those Who Could Easily Have Afforded The Wayy More Expensive Private Schools And I’ve Chosen The Same Relatively Less Expensive School That You Have; the inexpensive matching tracks remind me it’s not just a rumor you can throw on very comfortable clothes without much thought on a school run and still look incredibly put together. And comfortable. Did I mention comfortable?
Note to self: Wear your gold Cartier/ Chopards and carats with tracks/ tights/ jeans. So you can be both comfy and return the favor of affirmation to studs-wearing companions.
(Shortly after I stopped work I went on such a non-status, nothing-remotely-close-to-work-dressing binge, swapping carats for giant punk-y turquoise rings and shredded and studded jeans. But indicating the artfully torn denim I was wearing the previous day, Rockstar remarked “People might laugh at you in school,” when I told him I was up for another volunteer slot. Which is why I nixed the distressed jeans for volunteering. Since Rockstar bothered to give fashion advice, I mean.)
Then it’s time to go up for the play session.
This time I’m at the writing/ drawing station, with about a half dozen erasable boards and markers.
“My name starts with an A!”
“My brother’s name starts with- with- with –“
“What’s his name? Oh, that should start with an A too”
“No. It starts with- with- with- an O!”
Uh. I’m not sure I should correct that. Is it possible to spell that name with an O? Not far as I know, but what if it’s some fancy-wancy, unusual spelling and he goes home and tells his parents school taught him his brother’s name is misspelled?
(Change the subject) “Oh, and what have you got there?”
“I’m drawing a snail!”
“Mine is a circle!”
Ah, and Rockstar, what are you drawing there?
“A squiggly line!”
One little boy has written out “Elephant,” complete with capital and small Es. Whoa that’s a cool long word. Except I think the ‘a’ should be facing the other way?
<frown on tiny forehead> “No, it faces this way.”
Another little boy comes up wearing a tag bearing a small “a” in his name. Ah. See? Documented proof that ‘a’s face the other way. (Obviously I do not have the authority of a teacher.)
“A caterpillar!”
“Bugs!”
“I’m drawing a snail!”
EXcellent!
Oh, and what’s this one, Rockstar?
“It’s another squiggly line!”
Uh, EXcellent!
Many of the kids can already write their name.
So then they start teaching me to write mine.
As the station gets crowded, it starts to get a little rowdy. The worst of it is cut down several times quickly, by school staff who remain in the vicinity, but not having been around that many chattering children that often, I wonder briefly if there’s an iPhone app that sounds like a starter’s gun. Except that would mean getting out my cell phone. N-Uh-Uh. If one of the other kids reaches for it, Rockstar is going to froth at the mouth.
Speaking of which, my child has taken it upon himself to boss the mildly rowdier kids while standing on a chair. I don’t think that’s allowed, I saw one of the staff immediately order another chair climber down earlier.
Crap. My child is the only one on a chair, and he won’t get off. I enlist reinforcements from a passing school staff, thinking maybe he’s not complying because I’m not the law at school. But it still takes Rockstar markedly longer than usual to comply.
Belatedly I think I understand why. In his mind he probably thinks he has a very good reason to be standing on the chair (telling other kids to shut it = “noble cause”). And as he climbs down I see that without the chair the other kids he’s preachy with pretty much all stand at least a half head taller than my little Jack Russell Terrier.
Darn. He would probably have gotten down a lot quicker if I had addressed it along the lines of, “Yes they are being rowdy, but climbing up on the chair is against the rules too. If you’re also breaking some school rules you won’t be able to police the others effectively.” (Police Officer Sergeant Rockstar is his responsible, chivalrous, orderly alter ego. Complete with leftover policeman’s Halloween costume from Toys R Us.)
Then it’s tidy up time.
“Mum. Somebody is PUSHING.”
Sigh. The two boys are glowering at each other. “That’s because sometimes when we’re trying so hard to do a good job tidying up we don’t realize we’re pushing.”
Rockstar and Boy He’s Accused Of Pushing both chivalrously stay behind to help, so they get one responsibility each – one in charge of markers and the other alphabets, while I scrub the whiteboards.
“See? Just a misunderstanding. Both of you discharged your responsibilities so well. It was a pleasure working with you both.”
They both nod gravely before returning to their classes for circle time.
The other boy is almost an entire head taller than Rockstar. Just looking at them, I would have placed his age at easily 2 years older than Rockstar, he is so much bigger. But their expressions and postures of satisfaction at jobs well done are identical. I return the grave nod (because Rockstar has no sense of humor when it comes to being taken seriously) but inside I’m just laughing all the way back down to the waiting room. Little solemn faces so cute.
The other mums coming down agree it’s exhausting – but so fulfilling. “And fun,” one laughs. Another mum shows me a Buzz Lightyear sticker awarded her by one of the kids whom she doesn’t know – stuck on her expensive looking jacket.
I badly need sugar.
Korean mum (with Buzz sticker) grins and opens her immaculate Louis Vuitton Speedy to show me a bottle of the very sweet Starbucks coffee.
Yayas eat your hearts out.
I’ve found that whilst holding firmly onto their hand(s) and having them stand on the chair, which you then push/ pull, so they may wobble slightly and feel unbalanced is a more effective way of communicating why standing on a chair could be dangerous for them. I then tell them that they can’t stand up on a chair if there is no-one else around as they may wobble and fall and then hurt themselves. Although in your son’s case, maybe not being able to be PC Rockstar would be more effective in getting him to not stand on the chair?
Nice handling of the tricky somebody’s pushing situation.