This is all due to a phenomenon I like to call Mom Guilt. Some of my very P.C. friends will remind me that a more appropriate term would be Parental Guilt, but the truth is that I'm not sure this happens to dads in quite the same way it does with moms.
It's the holiday season, and with the Christmas tree and the children's stockings and the good cheer and the cheese ball come certain, parental obligations.
As I've said over and over and over (and over) my children attend a local Waldorf School, and those people take their festival seriously. This time of year the merry making really comes to a climax, and this Saturday is the pinnacle of it all: the Holiday Fair.
You really should stop by if you live in the area (920 W. 19th Street, more or less). The buildings and the grounds are beautifully decorated, there are goats and other furry creatures in the yard, children's crafts take place in one room while handmade crafts pulled together by City Garden families and other local artisans are for sale upstairs. One of the main attractions, however, is the cafe. Oh my do they stock it full of good things to eat - quiche, cookies, cakes, breads, tea, coffee, cocoa. The whole affair really is a testament to the dedication of the families and the community. They have had sign-up sheets in each of the three classrooms for weeks and weeks. And weeks.....
...without my name.
So, why haven't I signed up to help? There are plenty of ways I could offer my services, prove my maternal worth, demonstrate my dedication to my children's academic... success. I could sign up to help set up. I could sign up for clean-up. I could donate a tart. I could help run the table where kids stick cloves into oranges. I could make cookies, plum cake, donate plates and cups, babysit for the families who are helping to set-up/clean-up... But I refuse to sign my name.
Don't get me wrong. It's not that I don't want to participate. The first year Bela attended City Garden I stood outside in the freezing cold and sold tickets (for 25 cents) at the gate. For hours. Plus I made a quiche.
Last year I baked a ton of cookies.
This year I'm feeling like scrooge.
Every morning when I walk the girls into their respective classrooms I see those sign-up sheets, I feel the (imagined) stares of the moms hanging out there, and I march on out, head held high.
Last year I sewed 20 miniature aprons so that all the students in Bela's class would have a special gift on the day they celebrated their birthday at school. Then I made the curtains for Mae's classroom. Chris spent two days (plus countless hours processing and selecting and organizing) taking charge of the school photos. And now, right now, I'm in the midst of Mary, Joseph and the Angel.
Apparently, I am not the only lady with a moth problem. This fall at the beginning of the school year Bela's teacher pulled out the costumes for the annual Christmas play only to find that half of the contents of that bag had been devoured by that nasty little winged creature. They needed new tunics. They know I sew. They know I'm a Mom and when asked in person to volunteer some service for the school I am bound by the unwritten laws of MOM GUILT to say YES. So I said yes.
I just finished the angel. I hope the person donning the costume is not too tall. I made it to fit someone more my height, out of spite. Friday I tackle Joseph out of a brown linen blend. Then I'm on to Mary. She is wearing red.
So tomorrow, like all the days that have come before (in the last few weeks) I will drive my girls to school. I will kiss Bela goodbye in the yard and she will run upstairs to her classroom while I walk Mae to hers. I will march in there, head held high, self-righteous monologue on a practice loop running through my thoughts as I remove her snow pants, kiss her goodbye. And then I will take a deep breath, look her teacher straight in the eye, and probably sign up to bring a vegetarian quiche.
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