The Old Mom

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. 

Just don't ask me to do it perfectly.