Deep breath. Deep breath. My first baby went of to Kindergarten today.He was adorable. Got up with his alarm clock, leaped into his clothes, brushed his hair and teeth. He was excited, palpably so. His teacher is about, oh, I dunno, 12 years old? She told us that she was excited to be back to the school she went to 10 years ago. In my head: 8th grade, 10 years ago, she's like 23. Oh God, her mother still remembers sending her off to kindergarten. Ms. F is young and cute, and Ethan will love her by the end of the week.
Yesterday was the parent orientation. I was not among the blond, ultra thin moms dressed to the nines. Does the peer pressure ever stop? Instead of coming home and thinking about school supplies and sign up sheets and class parties, I was thinking about Botox, hair dye and rhinoplasty. These moms were the cheerleaders of high school and the sorority sisters of college. I thought I was done with all that nonsense. Yesterday, I don't know who was trying to impress whom more...was Ms. F in her rookie year, looking confident, despite her quavering voice trying to assure us with her credentials and earnestness? Or were these wives and moms trying to outdo each other like peacocks? These women weren't entities unto themselves--I'm Mychelle's mom. My husband is a physician. Jewelry, hairdos, heels, teetering on miniature kindergarten chairs. Beneath the make-up was skin glowing from a recent workout with a personal trainer, and taut with chemical/surgical assistance. Ms. F was a baker's decade younger than any mom in her classroom and beaming with the natural beauty of youth. I was fingering the wrinkles in my forehead, wondering if they showed too much. The insincere half smiles of greeting. That is my son. The one in the Polo shirt, shorts, shoes, socks, and underwear. That is my daughter. The one with two names, gingham Mennonite dress, and bow as big as her head.
As I struggled out of the classroom, clumsily juggling purse, calendar, umbrella, and school supplies, I asked why I have to make the trade. Why does committing to my son's education in Mobile involve a mortgaging of my social expectations? I never in my life have played nicely with these women. I have rebelled against and acted out against their cloned superficiality since I can remember. Part of me feels compelled to keep up. To look just so. But then I get so angry that they sucked me into it. So, no Botox for me. I'll just drop my baby off at school in my pjs for the next eight years.
A footnote...S's preschool does not start until the 25th. I need a school directory so I can find out who I need to stab about that.
That is so sad! Makes me sick. Im glad Carolines school is not like that. Im sure once she gets to junior high we will have to look at private schools. Hopefully by then we will have moved from this crazy place!
ReplyDeleteThat does not shock me at all. The school that E goes to is a bit more diverse, but there are those few folks that send their kids to school with gigantic bows and come to drop them off dressed like they're going to the prom. I, on the other hand, am lucky if I get out the door having brushed my own teeth. Good luck, hon!
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