It started innocently enough: just an average Aussie bloke, taking his average Aussie kid to preschool.
But then my husband and son stopped on the way for a coffee, and that’s when my almost-five-year-old made a request that would change the course of exactly no-one’s life, but was destined to ruin a few hours of my day.
“Daddy, can I have a doughnut to eat at school?”, the little ratbag asked, knowing full well the answer would be a yes from his very amenable father.
So off they went to pre-school, one pleased they got their way (and very much looking forward to eating the world’s largest doughnut at recess), and the other completely oblivious to the shitstorm that his weakness/desperation to be the best dad ever, would soon cause his wife.
Indeed, it was hours before even I got a hint of that shitstorm…which would later become known as #doughnutgate.
This Glorious Mess discusses: if your kids are taking a popper and a cupcake to school, prepare for a note home from the sugar police. Post continues after.
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That hint came at 3:25pm, in the form of an angry text from my sister, who was collecting my kid because I was in a meeting.
“JUST GOT SERVED A HEAP OF SHIT FROM THE TEACHER IN FRONT OF THE OTHER PARENTS BECAUSE OF YOU,” she calmly texted.
“Why did you send W with a GIANT CHOCOLATE DOUGHNUT for recess?????”, she continued, the multiple question marks indicating her mild curiosity.
She then explained that the teacher had pulled her aside at pick up, “loudly” asking her to tell me that the treat was a “highly inappropriate substitute for a meal.”
“WTF are you talking about????”, I hiss-texted back, knowing full well with every fibre of my being that my husband had gone rogue.
No response…because she was busy calling my mother.
And so, soon enough my mother called. She was "not angry, just disappointed" that I would pack such nutritionally-void food for my precious son while he was trying to learn.
I couldn't believe my sister had dobbed on me. Typical.
But alas, it would be only the first of three unpleasant phone conversations I would have in the next two hours. Because then, the head of my son's preschool called.
"Children need fuel for their brains," she lectured.