VD For Everyone!
I hope all of you are doing your part to spread the joy and love of VD around to everyone you meet today. Truly.
Me, I'm just sitting here in my office anxiously awaiting 3:00 (the start time of the Big Kindergarten Class Valentine's Day Party, which yours truly has planned and organized). For some reason, this feels like a job interview. I mean, they've already seen my resume (i.e., that child of mine who throws himself from furniture and wonders aloud whether anyone wants "a piece of" him), they've met my former employers (in the form of the db who refuses to leave the office without his kid and rants and raves about everything). Suffice to say, it hasn't been a favorable first impression. And for some reason, I feel like I can somehow redeem myself as a parent by putting on a kick-ass VD party for 24 kindergarteners and putting it all together in a matter of 3 days.
Yes, even I am aware of just how silly this notion is. As if my party-planning skills are really indicative of my parenting ability. (They aren't.) As if the mad skillz that produced 24 heart-on-stick personalized foam bookmarks are an indication of my being qualified to successfully mother a child with serious mental health concerns. (They aren't.) As if these children wouldn't be just as entertained and pleased if I skipped through the room in a tutu and tossed them a handful of candy, gave them each a shoebox or a paper sack to store their loot in--and then left. (They would.)
I'm well aware that no one will hold it against me even if a large percentage of the kids storm from the classroom, march to the principal's office, say hi to my son, and demand a new party because "this one sucks." But for some reason, I want it to go well. And I have no idea where this comes from. My own mother went into hiding at the start of each school year, desperately hoping no one would dare suggest she add "room mother" to her already overwhelming list of things to do. (And after she went off on one unsuspecting mother, no one did.) And let's face it, I'm not really the cookie-baking, craft-doing, costume-sewing kind of mom (I'm the anti-Gretchen)--most of the "mom-ish" tasks I attempt end up looking like I let my kid do them and tried to pass them off as my own work.
Maybe I just want Bob to be proud that he has a mom who--because she can throw a class party--doesn't suck. Or maybe it's myself I'm trying to convince.
Either way, I've got three bags in my car right now, full of personalized bookmarks and plates and napkins and 30 juice boxes and ribbon and I forget what else.
And, like every other day, I will do my best.
Me, I'm just sitting here in my office anxiously awaiting 3:00 (the start time of the Big Kindergarten Class Valentine's Day Party, which yours truly has planned and organized). For some reason, this feels like a job interview. I mean, they've already seen my resume (i.e., that child of mine who throws himself from furniture and wonders aloud whether anyone wants "a piece of" him), they've met my former employers (in the form of the db who refuses to leave the office without his kid and rants and raves about everything). Suffice to say, it hasn't been a favorable first impression. And for some reason, I feel like I can somehow redeem myself as a parent by putting on a kick-ass VD party for 24 kindergarteners and putting it all together in a matter of 3 days.
Yes, even I am aware of just how silly this notion is. As if my party-planning skills are really indicative of my parenting ability. (They aren't.) As if the mad skillz that produced 24 heart-on-stick personalized foam bookmarks are an indication of my being qualified to successfully mother a child with serious mental health concerns. (They aren't.) As if these children wouldn't be just as entertained and pleased if I skipped through the room in a tutu and tossed them a handful of candy, gave them each a shoebox or a paper sack to store their loot in--and then left. (They would.)
I'm well aware that no one will hold it against me even if a large percentage of the kids storm from the classroom, march to the principal's office, say hi to my son, and demand a new party because "this one sucks." But for some reason, I want it to go well. And I have no idea where this comes from. My own mother went into hiding at the start of each school year, desperately hoping no one would dare suggest she add "room mother" to her already overwhelming list of things to do. (And after she went off on one unsuspecting mother, no one did.) And let's face it, I'm not really the cookie-baking, craft-doing, costume-sewing kind of mom (I'm the anti-Gretchen)--most of the "mom-ish" tasks I attempt end up looking like I let my kid do them and tried to pass them off as my own work.
Maybe I just want Bob to be proud that he has a mom who--because she can throw a class party--doesn't suck. Or maybe it's myself I'm trying to convince.
Either way, I've got three bags in my car right now, full of personalized bookmarks and plates and napkins and 30 juice boxes and ribbon and I forget what else.
And, like every other day, I will do my best.
posted by Mitzi Green at 7:55 AM
1 Comments:
Mitzi, you'll do great. Let us know how it goes.
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