Despite my rabid insistence that Narragansett No. 7 is not a Mommy Blog – because it’s really more of an anti-Mommy Blog, a catch-all for my neurotic ramblings, and failures as a writer/parent/woman/human being – I suddenly find myself engaged in some very Mommy Bloggish endeavors.
Case in point: I am teaching Kate preschool at home this year.
No, not because she was kicked out of her former school for bad behavior or anything. There are many reasons. Mostly, the preschool wasn’t a good fit for us anymore. The mommies of her classmates were much younger and frankly, I wasn’t fabulous at making connections with them last year. What can I say? My thesis left very little room for play dates. Kate is our third child and most of the kids her class were the first-born in young families. I just wasn’t as… how shall I say? Gung ho? Nervous? I don’t know… I’ll let you fill in that blank. With two older kids and their schedules to shuffle, Kate’s preschool related extracurriculars took a back seat and if that appeared to be unfriendly, then so be it.
Then there was the issue of a little boy diagnosed with a spectrum disorder mid-year and some intolerance that came along with it. The situation brought me back to Joe’s first years of school and the shunning we experienced from the other moms. It pissed me off. It made me not want to bring my son anywhere near some of those folks. You know? I guess I threw a wall up.
Anyway, here I am preparing Kate for Kindergarten on my own. If I were a liar, I’d be sharing perfect photographs of each and every craft or messy sensory activity that Kate dives into. You would be inundated with toothy smiles and things like splat mats and smocks and wipes on the kitchen table, but that shit disappeared with kid number two.
Sure, I might post photographs, but rest assured, they won’t always be pretty. Not like those shiny happy pictures on some blogs and most definitely not like the photos snapped at preschool events of days gone by.
Why? Well, because teachers shower in the morning. That’s right. They generally don’t stink like dirty hobos in dire need of a breath mint.
Teachers don’t tell their daughter to “sit down and write those lower case e’s or I’ll steal all of the Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups out of your Halloween stash.” (Note to self: potential sorting and/or math lesson.)
Teachers might consider my requirement that she walk the dog after lunch unfair.
On the other hand, if Kate were at preschool she never would have felt comfortable enough to say, “Get over here you little gween bastard,” to a miniscule Lego frog evading her grip. That’s how our fine motor skill sorting game went down last week. I’m pretty sure most the other mommies wouldn’t have approved, but life isn’t always perfect. And maybe that’s the difference between first time moms and third timers.