Posted on | August 9, 2012 | 13 Comments
I was never one to get too bogged down in office politics or high school politics or sorority, well, politics. It’s not that I “go my own way” or anything, I just always assumed I wasn’t exactly the type to get picked first or last so I was content to reside in mediocrity when it came to social stature. Sure, I held a couple of offices in high school, college, and law school, but mostly I ran unopposed for all of those.
I guess what I’m saying is… I don’t really fight for position.
But I have to be honest about something… apparently I really DO care about “winning.” Even when it’s not so much “winning” as being handed additional work.
Yesterday when I picked J up from daycare, his teacher discreetly came over to me and motioned me to the corner. She leaned in and spoke in a soft whisper.
“We’ve been talking,” she gestured to the other teacher who waved a little at me without noticeably moving her arm. “And we’d like to ask you something.”
I leaned in, trying to figure out what this was all about. She glanced around furtively and spoke again.
“We’d like you to be room mom if you’re okay with that?”
I immediately said yes and smiled and J and I went on our way. No big deal. Nothing to worry about.
Only if that’s the case, why did I hear the Rocky theme song in my head and see me saying “SUCK IT” to all the other hard working moms in the class? I felt like I’d won a prize, like I’d been picked the most popular mom, the most capable juggler of work and home life. I felt like a damn rock star.
Isn’t that ridiculous? Don’t you just feel embarrassed on my behalf?
But there I was, a spring in my otherwise lagging step, shoulders thrust back with pride I was sort of embarrassed to even feel. After all, it was really just more work. It was really just asking me to coordinate a room full of otherwise engaged parents, busy with their own careers and their own lives. It was really just one more job. It is really just one more plate to juggle.
But none the less, I put my invisible “Queen of the Working Moms” cape around my shoulders and flipped my greasy, worn out hairdo with authority. Am I embarrassed about how much glee came with being asked to take on that job? You bet. Am I mortified that I care at all about who becomes freaking “room mom?” Absolutely. Do I suddenly wish I’d never written this because oh hell, other moms in J’s school read this blog? Yup.
But you know what? Rockstar moments are too few and far between when you’re a hard working mom, so I’m just gonna roll with this embarrassment. I’m going to be proud of the fact that someone thinks I can handle this on top of everything else. I’m gonna take J to daycare and walk in and out with my head held high.
Because dammit, I own that bitch now.