Mirror, Mirror

I had a conference tonight with Ess and Gee's preschool teacher. They are four. Energetic. Eager. Gee needs to work on his fine motor skills and he doesn't reach out to his peers easily, although he'll pester any adult in the room to read to him until they want to strangle him. He needs to know the details of how everything works. Ess craves sensory stimulation. She loves to be messy. She's a natural leader, but she already knows how to use that to exclude. They are both ready for pre-K. They are both easy to have in the classroom.

I was unsurprised. I know them. I spend all my days, every day, with them. I recognized them, my children, my beautiful four-year-olds, in her descriptions.

Then, we got to me and I got an uncomfortable glimpse of a me I don't recognize all that well. Teacher P and I like and respect each other. I love the way she runs her classroom and I think she's an awesome person. She gets where I am in my life. She understood, she told me, why I don't have a lot of time to devote to the class and she knows that I am an active part of Ess and Gee's life because she sees it reflected in their behavior, and so (here it comes) she explains to the other parents who feel that I am always in a such a hurry and I don't seem to be a part of the school community.

Sigh. Ouch. In all honesty, that shouldn't be such a surprise either. I can see myself through their eyes. I am always in a hurry. I'm not a part of the school community.

I get it. It's just. That's not really me. Except when it is? And is that so terrible, really?

Ess and Gee go to two preschool programs. On MWF, they attend "co-op" preschool. Hilariously, I would venture to guess that I might annoy some people in my MWF life for exactly the opposite reasons. I am on the board. I work in the classroom. I am someone to call with questions. I organize the park days in the summer and I know almost all the parents and I'm sure not everyone likes me, because, you know, we just don't manage to convey our hearts to everyone we meet, but I am absolutely certain that not one person there would ever accuse me of not being a part of the school community.

On TTh, they attend Teacher P's school. It's a big private school and I chose it for a reason. Nate and Cue and I attend baby and toddler classes on Tuesday and Thursday mornings. My schedule is full and I have all I can handle on my plate and I wanted a place where I could just drop them off and pick them up. I intentionally chose a classroom that looked like it had the resources to carry a few families that weren't looking for community.

I am not rude. I pay my bills on time. I am responsive and pleasant, and I don't complain, but I am in a hurry. When I drop off, I am on my way to toddler class and when I pick up I have two exhausted, hungry babies with dirty diapers in the van. Exhausted, hungry babies that I leave in the car while I run in to grab Ess and Gee. Literally, grab them. Like, Hi teacher P! Great to see you! Later!

I'm not blind. I see the other mom's sitting around chatting, hanging out for the last fifteen minutes of class. I see the look they give me as I fly past them, unbuckling their younger children from their cars to come in for a bit. I see them roll their eyes when Ess starts in on her temper tantrum as I hustle her out the door.

Can't she just slow down a little? Give the girl a minute to transition. I can. I do. On MWF, I do. I chat. I introduce myself to new people. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, I'm tired and starving and I can't face it. I physically can not face hauling Nate and Cue into the building. I can not deal with Cue's fit when we have to leave again ten minutes later. I can not stay patient while Ess ignores my requests to get her coat because she knows I have no hands and I can not get them all out the door easily. So, no. I don't have that minute in me on Tuesdays and Thursdays.

What's funny is that when we know someone's heart, when we understand them, we rarely judge them. If they knew me, they'd probably say, girlfriend, give yourself Tuesdays and Thursdays. You can't get involved everywhere. There are only so many places where you can be invested. Just run in and get your kids and so what if you're "that mom" to a few people who don't know you.

So, I nod. I'm nodding now, to myself. I am that mom. That mom you don't know very well. I could be interpreted a million ways. A snob. Completely out of touch with her kids. Not a team player. Too good for the rest of us. Not good enough for the rest of us. And ohmahgawd she leaves her poor, neglected babies in the car (in dirty diapers!). But, you know, if you met me on a Monday or a Friday afternoon, you might like me. "That mom" has a story too. Whatever it is. I'm certain many, many moms have stories a hell of lot more complicated then, my uh, yeah, I have a lot of kids and I'm tired and I just don't try as hard on certain days, tale of woe.

And I am as guilty as the next person of forgetting it, but I swear I will remember it when I meet her elsewhere in my life.

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I wrote this right after the conference last night and then I didn't publish it because it seemed a bit whiny. When I read it this morning, I realized it's just kind of me, myself and I, in all my manifestations, working through my thoughts, noodling about how different we can appear, depending on what light is shined down on us and what lens the viewer chooses. It's interesting to me that I am a different person depending on where and when you meet me. I've read some great posts lately on feeling left out in the world of moms, maybe snubbed, by the intensely involved moms and I wonder, as a very involved MWF mom, do I appear that way? And then, conversely, funnily, weirdly, on TTh, I find I appear exactly the opposite. Huh.

In addition, this morning I flung myself with gusto into an intense, philosophical and complicated WHAT TO DO FOR SCHOOL NEXT YEAR FOR ESS AND GEE crisis, which culminated in Matt telling me to CALL MY FREAKING MOTHER because he couldn't take it any more and FORTHELOVEOFGOD woman, just pick a school and go with it, I cannot even remember preschool or pre-K and I am positive it matters not one iota. After which, he dialed my mother's number and fled to the garage where he continues to hide at this very moment.

So. Yeah. I had it in my head to send them to a relatively expensive, five-mornings-a-week version of their current TTh program. But, Teacher P basically flat out asked me how my behavior was going to change next year and I realized that my crisis in large part involved the fact that I don't want to change. They are nearly five. I have put in three fun, long years of helping out at circle time and bringing snack and helping organize activities and I'm not even done because I'm still doing all of that for Cue and Nate next year and um, oh geez, shit, (confession of a disorganized mom of four alert!) I DON'T WANNA.

I just wanna drop them off and pick them up. And I kinda sorta wouldn't mind if their coats were on when I got there. (Wince.)

I'm completely happy to volunteer a set day in the classroom or bring supplies or bake something for whatever fill in the blank hallmark holiday, but your totally going to have to call and remind me because I just suck like that. And oh yeah, I might sometimes be in a hurry and it's not even because I'm intimately involved in peace in the middle east or I work part time as an environmental attorney saving birdies or I have to rush to perform a life-saving surgery or something.

It's probably because I'm starving. Or I have to pee.

As a result of this deep soul searching and angst and endless discussing, which I have had to bring to my BLOG because my husband and my mother are both tired of me, in one of the biggest reversals of philosophical stances on four-year-olds in the history of me being the mother of four-year-olds, I am considering putting them both in all day Kindergarten. (Where they line them up and bring them out to your car! Oh! God! The happiness! The lack of sprinting and worrying and leaving of babies in dirty diapers in parking lots!) Let's discuss.

[[Matt (telepathically from the garage): YOU ARE INSANE. IT'S SIX HOURS A DAY. IT'S LIKE PARENTS OF TOO MANY CHILDREN UNDER FIVE NIRVANA. SIGN THEM UP BEFORE I HAVE YOU LOBOTOMIZED AND CONFINED TO YOUR BEDROOM IN A STRAIGHT JACKET.]]