I may be hallucinating but I am fairly positive I agreed to being Mo's pre-k's class Room Mom. It's likely that I was overwhelmed by the unadulterated level of excitement of knowing that in five short days I'll be breaking free from summer vacation and felt obligated to repay the saints who are teaching Thing One and Thing Two five mornings a week for restoring my sanity.
So, now I'm Room Mom.
I don't even know what the fuck a Room Mom does. Is it a mascot? Is there a uniform or a costume that I get to wear? Am I required to bring in cupcakes or doughnuts for no reason? Do I start a phone tree? Do moms even do phone trees anymore? It's likely an e-mail chain now, right?
The closest experience I have in this department is being Safety Patrol on bus 535 in the 5th grade. For the record, I took this job very seriously. My sixty-something year old bus driver whom I adored, Mr. Smith, told me I was the best Bus Safety Patrol he'd ever seen. I realize now that he was possibly attempting to inflate my impressionable ten year old ego. Nevertheless, I appreciated the declaration of such success. However, since my only responsibility was counting heads after our last pick-up stop and I was almost always a head or two off, I am likely greatly unqualified for whatever responsibilities being Room Mom entails. I always thought roles like this were for the overachievers and the perpetual Teacher's Pets and, as you may have imagined, overachiever and Teacher's Pet, I was not. I was too cool for school. I made fun of the Teacher's Pets and often accused them of low self esteem.
(It should be noted that while I was no teacher' favorite, the vice principal and I were well-acquainted, remaining on a first-name basis through most of junior and senior year due to all of the school days I was apparently too cool to attend.)
The other option is that being Room Mom helps lift some of the guilt I feel for so desperately wanting to be away from my kids for a few hours every day. Like, "I shower my kids' teachers with doughnuts, hook them up to an IV drip of caffeine because it's a random Tuesday. I buy them the expensive candles not the Target candles. See! I'm involved! I care! I'm a good mom."
What the fuck is a good mom, anyway? I'm not entirely sure but I am fairly certain that my twenty year old self would find pleasure in kicking my twenty-nine year old' ass. As a result, my only real goal in life right now is to maintain some minor semblance of the person my teenage and worry-free self wouldn't want to violently and repeatedly slap.
I am acutely aware that my work is cut out for me.
Over and Out.