September is always chaotic in our home. It amazes me how our family accelerates the pace of life from the hazy days of summer crawl to the all out sprint of BTS. Suddenly, bedtime has to be adjusted to accommodate an early morning wake-up. School forms need to be filled out and signed. Sports uniforms have to be ordered. Schedules have to be coordinated. And I am in a mad dash to do all the summer cleaning I swore I would do, but didn’t.
The Tuesday after Labor Day is my New Year’s Day too.
And I have two BTS nights.
The second one requires me to rush home, pick up Munchkin, provide some sort of meal, hug DH with a ‘hello” then rush back out usually within an hour of getting in the house. I relish BTS night because I want to meet the Munchkin’s teacher and hear about what he will be doing. Every year I can predict how it is going to go just from quality of the presentation and the expression on the teacher’s face.
Sometimes, the Munchkin’s teacher doesn’t want to entertain me. It can be threatening to know that your client has the same job as you, knows the lingo, and can see through smoke and mirrors. There have been years when I felt the hesitation in the handshake, or could imagine the teacher talking in the faculty room…”Watch out! Mom’s a teacher.” I understand. It has happened to me too.
The best BTS nights have been the ones when I walk into the classroom and know the year will be great. I can feel the care that was put into making the room feel like home. And it is organized. Reading in one corner. Math manipulatives in another. Science in the back. Social studies in the front. I love it when I leave and know I will be working with Munchkin’s teacher.
But, my anxiety does rise like icy water when I walk into a room full of parents and I am the oldest one squeezing into a little kid seat.
You see, BTS night is also the time when the parents check each other out. A glimpse around the room can be very revealing. There have been moments when I swear I feel the other women’s gazes upon my back and I can hear them ask “Just how old was she when she had her child?” in their heads like some sick yummy mommy telepathy.
Being an “older” mom makes some ask why you waited so long, or wonder if you couldn’t find Mr. Right “on time”. Then some will look around or listen to hear if I have an older child, almost as if this one was an “oops”.
I am being scoped out on the battlefield of the mommy wars.
And I know it.
As the class parents (moms) stand up and talk about giving money for class parties, and getting involved, I feel a bit sick. They smile and bounce like they’re walking down some runway not standing in the front of a fifty-year old classroom. Sometimes they giggle. Sometimes they growl…”Of course you will join PTO!” “Give us your name, numbers, email…rank and file too.”
Honestly, I feel bad. I work. Halloween parties and parades are great, but I only get so much personal time in a year, so reading during Read Across America, supervising holiday parties, or helping organize graduation are not options for me. And PTO after a full day of work, family, grading, lesson planning, cooking, and…. it’s just not going to happen. This doesn’t mean I don’t care.
And I should not also feel like a second- class citizen.
It amazes me how quick people are to judge one another. My middle age is teaching me to take a step back, and breathe, before allowing those thoughts to consume me. One would think I’d be beyond caring what other people presume. But it is still a struggle at times.
Sometimes, when I see other moms, I wish we had children when I was younger. It’s too easy to wonder what life would have been like if only… Not that I regret my choices. There is a reason why things have happened in the time that they did.
This year I looked about the room and tried to stay present. Munchkin is growing much too fast. When I blink, I wonder what I missed. Now I try to live moment by moment and let go of Regret.
JMonell
Meandering Through Midlife 