The Worst Mother in Preschool
I know just what they're thinking when the give me that look. Who do I think I am, showing up at the preschool Hanukkah party when I've been entirely absent all year? "She doesn't even know our names," they probably whisper to one another. OK, maybe that's giving in to delusions of grandeur, maybe they have no idea that I not only don't know who they are, but I don't even recognize their children. Why? Because I never go to the school. I don't drop Rosie off, I don't pick her up. You know who does? My nanny. Yes, I'm one of those mothers. The mothers who opt out of the whole nursery school experience. When Sophie (now ten) was in preschool, we had one of those mothers in the class. I know what the moms think of me, because it's exactly what I thought of her. What a crappy parent! What an uncaring wretch! It's Mommy Dearest in that house.
That mom had two older children. Just like I do. What the mommies don't understand is that before Rosie stepped a foot into preschool, I'd already done five years of it. FIVE YEARS. Two with Sophie and three with Zeke. Five years of fingerpainting. Five years of pasta collages, five years of Playdoh menorahs, five years of clean mud (that stuff they make with grated soap flakes), five years of the water table. FIVE YEARS. A person could go crazy. Is it any wonder that I have to buy out my volunteer hours?