Yesterday Ransom had a V-day party at his preschool which was basically his favorite thing ever. He got a giant bag of Valentine’s from his classmates ( read: candy) and he got extra playtime at school ( we usually only go on Tuesdays and Thursdays). I spent the whole time nervously making small talk with very well dressed mothers. I had put on make up and worn my clean pair of black pants but I still didn’t feel like I was measuring up. I basically went out of my way to not mention that even if we wanted to go to this preschool next year, we wouldn’t because WHO CAN AFFORD THAT?! ( apparently prices go up to full-on private school tuition once you hit actual “preschool” age. So instead of paying for your kids college you can just go ahead and spend that money on private preschool (whaaaaa!?! ) .
But I didn’t. And by the time we left I was feeling about as insecure as my 16 year old self. I’m THIRTY! I kept telling myself, I’M THIRTY! I SHOULD BE OVER THIS!
But the thing is, I’m not over it. I care a whole heck of a lot what other people think. But the embarrassing part there was that I should at least care about IMPORTANT things, right? I mean, what these ladies thought of my last seasons ( Target) shoes should not be on my list of what is important. Ever.
But sometimes I slip into this really awful insecure place where people do things at me. They wear their designer Jimmy Choos at me. And they throw perfect Valentine’s parties at me.
So stop whatever you’re doing and read this blog post right now. Quit pointing your avocado at me. It should be my anthem. And I should definitely remember it when the Mommy guilt or the 16 year old self starts to seep in.
We’re all fighting some battles and instead of spending my time in that preschool class room being insecure, I should have spent it loving those adorable 3 year olds, their great teachers and those other moms ( and Nannies…there were several Nannies) of 3 year olds…because if their 3 year olds are anything like mine, then they need some major loving too….
So here’s to being less about me this next week.
P.S. This blog post is brought to you by 2 hours of ALONE TIME AT STARBUCKS during the usual late evening bedtime ritual which is being handled beautifully by my wonderful husband so that I could write in peace. He is a gift.