>The Special List
>There’s a woman in town we’ll call Matilda, who is… how shall I put it… all up in my grill.
She has a son who is Punky’s age and for the last five years, we have continually been thrown together at events for our children. And we’re like oil and water. She’s very bossy and overbearing, I’m very… not, and every time she opens her mouth, it’s like nails being dragged down a chalkboard.
I’ve gotten to the point where I expect her to walk through the door whenever I take Punky to any preschool event or class. She does them all, and seeing her frowning face appear at the library or the zoo or the park just pops my happy mommy bubble every time.
Since Matilda has three boys, I considered Punky’s ballet classes to be my safe place… my Matilda-free zone. However, halfway through the spring semester, wouldn’t you know she showed up with her oldest son dressed and ready to plie.
“I can’t stand that woman,” I whispered to my friend, Marjorie. “She’s just awful.” I wondered to myself how Matilda had managed to get her son on the roster; these particular ballet classes always had a waiting list and we were well into the semester.
“Hello, Matilda,” I said weakly when she walked over to us.
“Hello, Lindsay,” she smirked.
“I’m surprised to see you here,” I said.
“Yes, well I called the community center over and over again back in January, trying to get John Mark in this class. No one’d ever call me back. So I decided to just show up.”
Of course, the rest of us had filled out the registration paperwork for the class at the main office like we were supposed to. But I’m sure Matilda didn’t have time for stupid rules and regulations. She had just shown up. Matilda-style.
The next week, though, Matilda and company didn’t show up. Nor the week after that.
Of course, Matilda being Matilda, I ran into her again that week at a preschool event at the park.
“I’ve missed you at ballet class,” I said, with the fakest smile I could muster.
“Well, I talked to Miss Linda after that class and she said she couldn’t let John Mark in because the ten other parents on the waiting list would be furious.”
“A shame,” I said, shaking my head.
“But she said she’d make a note of my name,” Matilda continued, lifting her chin in that old familiar way, “I convinced her to make a note of my name and she said she’d put me on a special list of her own, and John Mark can definitely dance with your class in the fall.”
I grimaced. Somehow, I thought Miss Linda’s “special list” was probably a warning for her co-workers, of which parents to avoid at all costs.
Of course, this all seemed like small potatoes a month later. Miss Linda got sick and, to my great shock and sorrow, passed away. Marjorie and I have talked about it periodically ever since. We both were making calls and getting updates from Miss Linda’s co-workers while she was sick, and because of that, it really felt like a punch in the gut when she didn’t recover.
Today, the subject of Miss Linda came up again as Marjorie and I started talking about dance class in the fall, and who would teach it.
“Oh my gosh, remember that horrible woman, Matilda?” I asked her. “The one who tried to force her son into the class?
“Oh, totally,” Marjorie replied.
“I ran into her at the zoo last week,” I said, “and she came up to me and asked if Punky was taking dance again in the fall. I told her she was. ‘Well, John Mark will be with her,’ she said, folding her arms. ‘Because I convinced Miss Linda to put me on her special list.'”
“Oh no,” Marjorie gasped. “What did you say?”
“I said, ‘Oh Matilda, there is no special list.’ And she said, ‘What? How do you know?’ And I said, ‘Honey, Miss Linda died.'”
We looked at each other for a moment, and then we both simultaneously burst into laughter. And it didn’t feel inappropriate, either. It felt good. It felt healing. In that moment, a little bit of my sadness over Miss Linda lifted off my shoulders, and I was glad for it.
Besides. I’m just sure that somewhere, Miss Linda was laughing, too.
>Matilda also lives in Indiana and puts her boy in gymnastics and when the other girls move up – he has to move up too.
>Reading this gave me a happy mommy bubble this morning!
>That is the cutest story! I have a few “Matilda’s” in my life too and every now and then it’s nice to be on the other end of bursting bubbles! :o)
>BWAAAHAHAA!!! That rocks!!!
>Too funny!! There are at least two or three in my community that make me cringe – how can people think they are so special all the time?! It is also the kind of thing I would love to write about in my blog . . . but still am afraid to!!
>Oh. No. You. Didn’t.But yes you did. So funny.
>Oh no, this is what awaits me when I finally give birth? Awesome. And why does Matilda want her son to do ballet? Why can’t he do something like football or soccer or something? Just wondering.
>Oh my. Love the story, and what a great way to remember Miss Linda, too! 🙂
>I think every Mom has a Matilda! I know I have at least TWO… wait… maybe I’M Matilda!!!
>I’m still so sorry about Miss Linda, she sounds so much like my former dance teachers Miss Joanne and Mr. Fred who are fortunately still around and kicking (literally) in their very old age. That story was the BEST! I agree that Miss Linda is getting a great big chuckle about it right about now.
>I’m sure Miss Linda is somewhere, enjoying that moment.
>Amusing, my son is going through a stage (age 6) that even going to the waiting/play area at his sister’s ballet school is so uncouth I might as well make him wear a pink leotard to school. So take heart in that soon this boy will want nothing to do with “girl” stuff and you will be rid of his mother. Unless you suggest this mother is forcing him to do extracurricular activities for her and not for his enjoyment/growth. It is so hard to have a weekly class with people you dislike this has happened to me in kindermusik in the past and I just have to remind myself that if this is something that I would do if that person was not present and enjoy than there is no reason to quit. Maybe, my presence annoys them just as much now that is a thought I can take joy in 😉
>There are so many mothers like her – it makes me wonder how they get by in the world without someone accidentally running them over on the way to pre-school or ballet. Ugh. Unfortunately, they get even more obnoxious as the kids grow up!
>have you asked her if he is attracted to other little boys?
>I have to know. Do these people you write about know you have a blog? How do they respond? I fantasize about writing things like this, but I don’t know how it would play out in reality…
>Cute. I’m far too chicken to ever say anything like that. But I love hearing about it!
>Matildas must go.
>Is he an only child?She sounds a little doting on him to me.There was a girl in my daughter’s open dance class last year. Her mom would chat our ears off while we were waiting for class. She would horn in on quasi-private conversations between a couple of us who are friends outside the world of dance.Fortunately my daughter was promoted to an ‘invitation’ dance class so we are no longer there the same day.
>Matilda reminded me of someone I know… but I think Matilda has her beat. I feel like I should apologize for laughing about someone’s death (or rather the non-list consequence), but I did like the story!
>LMAO…Lindsay, you rock. ‘Nuff said.
>I have known Matilda for so long now that I think it would have come out if she read this blog. She has been obliquely mentioned before (she would know who she is if she read it) and nothing, so my guess is… no.But even if she does read it, I'm not exactly worried about losing her "acquaintanceship."
>Good story. When my oldest was in kindergarten the teacher asked if I would bring her to parents night and let her be the greeter at the door. We showed up, ith Star all dressed up in frills and bows. And so did another mother, with her daughter, who had not been asked to greet, all frilly and bowy. She shoved the child in front of me and said, "What does your kid have that mine doesn't" What I should have said was " an overbearing, pushy, mother" but I merely directed her to the teacher. She was my Matilda. She still is, 31 years later!!!
>I'm sorry to hear about Miss Linda and I'm sending my condolences and best wishes to her family and the kids.Why do people like Matilda have to exist? Can't they just…chill?
>Good story. You are the kind of mother I want to be.
>I've got my own Matilda, too. Every damned time my kid progresses out of the class we share, hers is sure to follow within months. This is a small town, and like your Matilda, mine is everywhere. The worst part of it is that obnoxious, self-centered women breed obnoxious self-centered little people, so her kid is just as hard to tolerate as she is. The funny part of it is that her reputation precedes her, and in this small town where she thinks she has so many friends, in reality, nobody can stand her. Ugh.
>Lindsay,These are the posts I love most from you. You're not afraid to write it when you think it!Thanks for the laugh!
>I love your humor and honesty. I am always smiling after reading your posts!
>As annoying as Matilda sounds, the homophobia in these comments is a little shocking. Who cares if the boy wants to dance instead of play football? And if he does want to dance, why does that make him gay?
>Haha.I think there is a Matilda on my street.
>Matilda also lives in Oregon, has crazy eyes and abuses her pain meds among other issues, a daughter that terrorized mine (but according to her, that was my daughters fault), would insist on volunteering for things I was coordinating and then reliably flake out every time… I could not get away from her! She moved to a new school last fall… yeah me!
>lol. That's all I have for today. Me, laughing. Well, it's more of a giggle-snicker. I'll try not to snort.
>thank you amy lynn for saying exactly what i was thinking.
>Very funny.
>I actually wish there were more boys in ballet. It's a shame that so many girls have to play boys roles in children's ballet performances.That said, Punky's ballet class is a preschool "movement" class. There is no actual ballet yet. It is all girls and honestly, the kids are too young to really determine whether they have talent.I wonder if I'm being unfair, but then I think about putting Punky in, for example, a soccer clinic that happened to have all 5-year-old boys. And you know what? I wouldn't do it. I don't think she would have a whole lot of fun with ALL boys right now. I would try to find something that had boys and girls or all girls.I generally prefer classes with a mixture of boys and girls, which is why I LOVE Punky's acting classes (which again, are preschool level and are all about imagination right now, not actual acting.)With all that said, YES, I think Matilda was just being annoying putting her son in the ballet class. She's doing it because it's free and she (like me) is obsessed with free classes. Not because her son has any aptitude in dancing.
>LMAO…all up in my grill. That sounds like something off The Proud Family.
>I am a little saddened by this story. I am not sure why? But I do not think that it is funny to write about another mother…I think all of us are a little pushy when it comes to our kids. The other thing I find hard about this story is that it seems a little insensitive to this woman. I mean I don't know her & I don't know you either but I would like to think that I am part of bigger community of mothers that are not "haters." Perhaps "Matilda" wants to be friends but she has a no idea how to make them? & maybe her pushy(ness) is in part her trying to fit in? I don't know but for some reason Lindsay I usually love your blogs but this one is a little sad to me. My opinion.
>I could pretend like I'm perfect, Christy. A lot of moms do. But I'm not perfect, and I write about the not-perfect part, too. Sometimes, people irritate me. Let she who has never been irritated by another cast the first stone.
>These women must be everywhere.
>If we all held hands and hugged all the time… we wouldn't have the free digits to blog. Yay for not being perfect. And yay for finding humor in your Matilda. I can always count on you when I have more deadlines than hours, when I feel like I have lived 5 days in 2, or when the weight of life seems so much to bear. You always bring a smile to my face. Yes, you're funny and well written. Yup, you reach many with heartfelt words… but what makes you worth reading every stinking day is your honesty. Thanks.CeCe
>I can SOOOOO relate to your feelings about this… woman. I have a Matilda in my life, and she's a teacher at my childrens' school. Therefore, I have to see her scowl on a regular basis. You know the type? The ones who think that they run the place, and don't want to have any new or better ideas to consider… oh, she's a treat.Love from Michigan,Laura
>I have a "Matilda" too. Except I call her Vainglory.Vainglory lives in my neighborhood and goes to my church.I hide from Vainglory. Frequently.And if you read my post today about my Invite Only Funeral – it's Vainglory I aim to KEEP OUT.Geez.
>[I think Christy is some other woman's (women's?) Matilda.]Sometimes I wonder if these Matilda's are NOT actually so egotistical that they think what they want should take precidence over everyone else, but rather so stupid that they can't see that there is so much interest in something that there'd be a waiting list, or that if there are 12 brownies at a meeting of 12 people, don't take 3 of them, or if a parking limit is 30 minutes, it's because there needs to be a lot of turnover for the mechants to make a profit, etc.
>There's a special hell reserved for pushy helicopter moms who teach their kids to jump the line–of that, I'm certain. I'm sure it involves endless whining, epic humidity and backwash-y water bottles. Thamks for making me LAUGH this morning at the Matilda-like mommies who normally make me want to scream.