As I write this, we are
pretty much in the full swing of this back-to-school thing. With
almost two weeks under our collective belts, I feel as if we might survive...if
the parenting gods smile on us, and I keep my act together as Bedtime Enforcer
and Signer of Reading Logs.
This is a tall order for
me. Any appearance of having my act together is strictly an illusion. I
desperately want to be one of “those moms,” the ones who always seem to have it
under control; the ones who actually bake for the bake sale; the ones whose
children are always well-rested; the ones who don’t have to breath their
anxiety into a paper bag while driving on field trips to Philadelphia.
After the number of
years I’ve spent raising children, I should have this parenting stuff down, but
I don’t. Still, each September presents a clean slate and another
opportunity for me to try once again to get it right.
As part of their annual
back-to-school ritual, my son's school hosts a welcoming event for parents of
kindergarteners. Parents meet for coffee after dropping their kids
off for their first day of school. That first day can be a stressful
transition for both parents and children, and this gathering gives parents a
chance to meet others within the school community.
In my effort to be more
engaged this year, I volunteered to work at this event. I thought
that I could be especially helpful since I’ve been a parent at the school for
many years. I knew that I could help put new parents at ease by
answering any questions they might have about the school.
The day of the event, I
did my best to project a welcoming attitude toward the new parents by engaging
them in conversation. Inevitably, they would ask if I, too, had a
child in kindergarten. “No,” I’d respond. “My youngest is
in eighth grade and I have two who’ve already graduated from the school.”
And then, without fail,
they'd smile politely and move toward a different parent.
I couldn’t figure this
out. Why were they getting away from me as quickly as
possible? They were behaving as if I repulsed them, as if I hadn’t
showered or something. (I definitely showered. See above
desire to be one of “those moms.” “Those moms” shower before going
out in public.)
After enduring this
rejection six or seven times, I asked one of the other volunteers if she had
any idea why so many parents didn’t seem to want to talk to me.
“Well,”
she said. “They just don’t have anything in common with you.”
“In
common?” I asked. “Am I that boring to talk to?”
“No,
it’s not that,” she said. “It’s just that these parents want to meet
other parents who have children in kindergarten. You don’t have a
child in kindergarten so they really can’t relate to you.”
She was probably right. Eighth
grade was a lifetime away from kindergarten.
Then I did something I
shouldn’t have done. I thought about how long ago it’s been since my
youngest son was in kindergarten (seven years.) Then I thought about
how long ago it’s been since my oldest son was in kindergarten (eighteen
years.) Then I did the math and realized that not only has that
kindergarten ship sailed a very long time ago, I also realized that I am old
enough to be the mother of most of the parents here.
Ouch. When
did I become the Old Mom?
I'm not sure when it
happened, but apparently it did
(probably while I was hyperventilating my way through Philadelphia.) Somehow I've crossed the point of being
youthful and relevant and landed under some middle-aged cloak of
invisibility. I've gone from skinny
jeans and lip gloss to hot flashes and sensible shoes.
On a good day, I realize
that being the Old Mom isn't all bad.
I've learned a ton of things that these young moms have yet to discover
for themselves. This Old Mom may move a
little slower than the others but she knows that it’s wise to wear comfortable
shoes on field trips. This Old Mom has figured out that it’s
pointless to try to get a kid to bed early the night before school. The
first day of school will totally wear them out and they will naturally go to
sleep earlier. This Old Mom knows that kindergarten isn’t the end of
childhood, but rather the beginning.
Those other moms aren't
there yet, and it’s not my place to rush them. And while I won't be
volunteering for any more kindergarten events, I will do my best to support my
son's last year of middle school.
