Let me tell you a funny story. I’m Class Mom this year. It’s ok, you can laugh, most people I know have already snorted their morning coffee through their nose upon hearing the news. My daughter laughed like a drain.
True story. When I first told her, she looked a little like a deer in headlights. Like she wasn’t sure if I was joking or not. Then she realised that I was being serious. Then the laughter started. And then the gravity of the situation hit her.
“But Mom, how will we know what’s going on, so we can tell the rest of the moms?” she asked, the high pitch of her voice betraying the panic behind the question.
“We shall ask Heather,” I said simply. Heather, by way of explanation, is one of Megan’s ten-year old friends. She always knows what’s going on at school. Megan, by contrast, doesn’t sweat the small stuff; and Amy – in her own words – “is more of a big picture person”.
This week alone, in the two days that we have been back at school, we have made no less than four phone calls to a selection of Go To friends, just to confirm homework.
And then there’s me, aka the Class Mom, who is possibly the least likely candidate for Class Mom you’ll ever meet. Before children, I was very A type. I had lists, and plans, and spreadsheets. But the advent of children changed all this. Now, I mostly just wing it.
(I equate this way of running my life with the way that I run. I’m bad at picking and sticking with a training plan, I don’t watch my pace while on the road, I quite often have no idea how far or how fast I’m going, and – almost without fail – I get lost. Even on my regular routes. That said, in this way, I manage to run further, and faster, on the days that I can, and quite often even on the days that I think I can’t. Because, you know, I have to get home somehow!)
But back to the point at hand. Class Mom. For the uninitiated, this means that I am basically the point of contact between the school and the parents of the children in my daughter’s class. I am the person who needs to know what is going on at school, so that I can communicate these goings on to the other parents.
Good luck, I say.
Because this is me:
On the last day of school last year, when the girls were assigned to their new classes and teachers, the kids were each given a packet of brightly coloured confetti, which I very nearly chucked out, but salvaged at the last minute because I thought it might be useful for art projects. Then one of the moms mentioned that the girls were given a packet of Jitter Glitter, and said something about shaking it over the kids for Day 1, so I patted myself on the back for not throwing it away and put it back in Meg’s bag.
Upon arrival at school on Day 1, however, all the kids – and the moms – were talking about the Jitter Glitter. Apparently, the deal was that the girls were supposed to shake it over themselves the night before the first day of school, to take away the first-day-of-school jitters. The instructions were clearly printed on the label. Of course. Which somehow completely escaped my attention.
(Luckily for me, they seemed to escape Megan’s attention too. Anyway, she’s much too much like her father to approve of putting glitter in one’s bed!)
I can give you another one:
Two days before the start of school, we tried on uniforms. At the last minute, we tried on shoes, and discovered that Meg’s were way too small. Again, I patted myself on the back, because I had given myself two whole days to get new uniforms and new shoes, which could possibly be a new record in our house. I was particularly proud of the fact that I remembered the shoes.
Then yesterday, while scratching in Megan’s cupboard for her school slip slops, I stumbled on another pair of shoes. Which look almost exactly like the new ones. As it turns out, they are exactly exactly like the new ones – same make, same colour, same size even. Because the ones I made Meg try on before we went shopping, were her old ones. The ones I kept in case we ever had a shoe emergency, as we did when Amy lost her one right shoe for a whole term last year. Not that Amy would (or did) wear the same make of shoe as Megan. Why would that happen in my house?
Suffice to say that it’s going to be an interesting year. For me, who might need to learn to operate on more than a wing and a prayer; for my girls, who might to see some of the small stuff (even if they don’t sweat it); and for the other moms, who might need to learn how to use the school’s mobile app.
Because as it turns out, Heather is in the other class.