Blah Blah Babycakes

Confessions of a Preschool Volunteer Dodger

I walk as fast as I can past the parent volunteer sign-up sheet posted in the hallway on the way to Henry's preschool classroom, hoping that if I ignore it long enough the obligation will go away. Like magic. With zero guilt the reminder memos that come home in Henry's backpack go straight into the recycling.  Okay, maybe a tiny smidgen of guilt is felt.

It's not that I don't want to be helpful, but I remember all too clearly what happened the last time I volunteered to be helpful.  Henry is not able to function normally when I'm in his classroom.  I know he would spend the entire time glued to my leg, begging to go home. It would suck and I'm not ready to find out if maybe it wouldn't.  Not to mention that the three hours he's at school is my time to do whatever the hell I want and the last thing I want to do is spend it in a church basement with a bunch of kids. Other people's children are lovely, but I just don't have the patience for them and that's the ugly truth. And when else can I spend 45 minutes strolling the beauty and vitamin aisle at Whole Foods?

So I breeze in and out of that joint as quickly as possible, Blackberry in hand, so as to look like busy corporate mom instead of just a slacker mom. I have a feeling this school volunteer business only gets worse as the years go by. I'm going to have to come up with some ready made excuses. No one wants me chaperoning a school dance.  I'll be the one spiking the punch.

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Suck On This

Henry walked over to me this morning and handed over his "bah".  That's his term for the pacifier that he never leaves home without. "I don't need this anymore", he said.  I tried to hide the shock on my face with a look of pride.  "Alright then, let's throw that thing in the garbage."  "No", Henry replied.  "Let's put it someplace safe, just in case". I detected a lack of commitment.

The damn pacifier seemed like such a good idea when I first popped it into Henry's mouth a mere 24 hours after he was born.  I certainly didn't know how to make him stop crying and I was willing to try anything.  The paci worked. And it has for four years.

When Henry was just a few weeks old I met a woman in my neighborhood who had a son a couple of days older.  The fact that we'd both just birthed large babies was the only thing that we had in common. She was against everything that I found convenient and necessary. She was opinionated and I was just flailing about, trying to keep my baby from screaming. We were not meant to be friends. However, desperate for companionship during those hazy, post-partum weeks, we hung out nearly every day. 

Driving home from Target one afternoon I sat in the backseat between Henry, who was quietly sucking on his pacifier and her little precious who was screaming wildly.  "Could you put your finger in his mouth, please?", she begged. "It's the only way he'll be quiet".  "Um, okay...er my hands are probably dirty, but uh...I have an extra binky if you want one."  She didn't.  She was absolutely against them. Something about bad teeth? And so I popped my index finger in his little mouth and he sucked on it the whole way home.  I felt a little smug.  Four years later, I'm definitely not the one laughing.

Experts say that if you choose to use a soother, it should be taken away by 18 months.  If you don't do that, then you're pretty much at the mercy of your child to decide on their own when they are done.  Unfortunately I didn't read this article until too late. Not that I would have done it anyway.  I was just as interested in an easy way to keep Henry quiet at 18 months as I was when he was a newborn.  There is your Crap Mom Confession of the Day.  Teeth be damned!

We'll see if Henry is really ready to move on.  If not, then perhaps his Freshman roommate can try to talk some sense into him. 

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Depressing

Living with a husband who spends his days watching the stock market collapse has left me feeling like the sky is falling.  Mr. Doom and Gloom comes home every day shaking his head and telling me how terrible everything is.  At first I thought it was just because it's in his face all day long. How could he not be affected? I suggested he try living in oblivion like I do.  But now he's starting to get to me.

Now I want to stack bags of beans in the basement and dine on bread and water.

When I'm brave enough to look at my bank account I find everything in order, but it doesn't ease the anxiety that keeps me from going to the mall to buy new winter clothes.  Necessities like haircuts, pedicures and cable have crossed back over into the luxury category. It actually makes me feel like a jerk to spend money right now.  With my split-ends and tattered clothes I hope to pull off a "Depression Chic" look this Fall.  Benefit season is starting and the only donation I want to make is to the pile under my mattress.  It's okay to roll your eyes.  Yuppie problems.

There are real and scary problems though.  Banks are collapsing, people are walking away from homes they can no longer afford and States are running out of unemployment funds.  It's hard not to wonder if you'll be next.  The next story of failure from failed policies and failed leadership.  Things have to get better.  Even though I look great in black and white, we can't have another Great Depression.  We've come too far.  We have to have hope.  Hope and maybe free haircuts for everyone.

 
Donuts!

/image

They say that a pictures is worth a thousand words.  I say, without a visualization I'm left uninspired. 

Many times I'm moved to write because of a photo and other times I'll take a picture to help capture my words.  Either way, the fact that my camera is broken means my stupid blog is broken.

I'll be back when I'm done pouting...