I'm Lindsay Ferrier, a Nashville writer with a passion for family travel, exploring Tennessee, and raising kids without losing my mind in the process. This is where I share my discoveries, along with occasional deep thoughts, pop culture tangents and a sprinkling of snark. Want to get in touch? Use the CONTACT form at the top of the page.
May 2, 2011
When I received my copy of the April calendar for my son’s preschool class several weeks ago, I read over it with dismay.
There was an Easter Egg hunt (parents invited to attend!). A special joint performance with the church children’s choir. Another singing performance, just for the preschoolers and their parents. And a Munchies with Mommy morning.
Here’s the deal. I love my son and I love celebrating him. But he’s only in preschool for a few hours a week. And when he’s there… well…
I don’t want to be there.
I feel that old familiar mommy guilt creeping over me even as I write those words.
It’s not like I didn’t know this was coming; Bruiser’s preschool is simply following in the tradition of pretty much every other preschool in the country. And perhaps if I could have afforded to send his older sister to preschool, as a first-time mom I would have proudly attended everything they had to offer– and then some.
But now, I’m older and wiser.
For one thing, I don’t really need to see my son hunt for eggs in a church gym, or dance to music in the fellowship hall, or have a snack in his classroom. We do our own egg hunt here at home. We dance to music together all the time. We have snacks every stinking afternoon.
For another thing, let’s be honest. He’s four. Ten years from now, he won’t remember whether I was there or not.
I’m all for attending special events for parents in grade school. My daughter is away from me for too many hours each day, and I love going to lunch with her and chaperoning field trips and volunteering in the classroom. It’s a way for me to feel connected to her life away from me.
But honestly, I don’t need to feel connected to my son’s preschool class. Ninety-one percent of his life is spent with me. I feel completely comfortable allowing my son’s preschool teachers to have that remaining nine percent all to themselves. Please! By all means! Be my guest!
Meanwhile, I’ll be home, getting writing assignments done without feeling guilty. Mopping the kitchen floor without my son in the doorway, whining pitifully about needing to walk in the kitchen “all the time and forever.” Running errands, getting my hair done, and visiting the doctor, Bruiser-free. I’m absolutely sure he’s having more fun in preschool than he would be having with me.
I don’t need to see the proof for myself.
Is that so wrong?
I sense a few pursed lips on those of you reading this story right now. So you don’t want to go? I hear you saying to yourselves. Then DON’T GO. Quit complaining.
Well, that’s not an option. Here’s why:
This is the face that greets me when I get there.
How can I leave this face in the lurch?
And so I hide eggs for the Easter Egg hunt in the church gym. I crouch at tiny preschool tables for cupcakes on his birthday. I smile and watch my son pretend his whole body is spaghetti during his music presentation. And I’ll (pretend to) munch whatever I’m given to munch on Munchies with Mommy Day.
If my preschool happens to decide that it can do without a few some most of these special parent events?
I won’t be complainin.’
This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.