To This Year’s Teachers, I Lied To You
Yesterday was the first day of school. The week before that was Orientation. If either Aidan or Sean’s teachers even saw me in the crush of parents and students, I’m pretty sure they didn’t recognize me. I lied to them so bad. So, so bad.
For that, I’ll make my apology public. It’s the least I can do.
To This Year’s Teachers…
Do you remember that woman who stepped into your classroom last week? She wore a skirt, heels, jewelry, make-up, and a bra. The bra was the real miracle. She smiled and shared the good and the not-so-good about her children. She looked calm and put together, a picture of motherly grace.
She was going for “cute” and “put together.”
If you looked closely, you might have realized her ankles wobbled on those wedge sandals – yes, a wedge. Yes, she wobbled. They weren’t flip flops, okay??
You might have noticed she had no clue how to bend down in a skirt without accidentally showing everyone London and France. She fidgeted with her necklace and bracelet and twirled her butterfly ring around on her finger. Her purse was purple and Bohemian which should have told you all you needed to know.
She was me. And she was a lie.
There’s a reason you didn’t recognize me yesterday. The sloppy bun, yoga pants, and platform flip flops you saw are my usual uniform. For you, I put on a bra. You’re welcome.
This is the real me. Sloppy, comfortable, heading straight back home to hole up in a dark room with my laptop. I don’t socialize. I don’t volunteer. Unless I have no choice, this will probably be the last time you see my face in your classroom until parent-teacher conferences.
I sound like a hot mess, don’t I? I know.
But I gave you my best face so that I could blend in and show that I really do care about my children, even if I have no interest in mommy-gossip at the crosswalk, bringing in sugary treats on birthdays, or planning anything at the school.
They will come to school dressed appropriately. My one and only attempt at appropriate was to prove that I know how it’s done. What you may see over the school year is for my benefit. A little, “Do as I say, not as I do” for the boys.
They will be prepared. They will have what they need. And when you see me in the car pick-up lane and wonder what the hell happened to me and where my bra is, you’ll know that I am capable of better – and so are the boys.
So yes, I lied to you at that first meeting. Hell, I’ll probably lie to you again at the first conference. If you don’t recognize me outside of those two times, its okay. I prefer to be invisible. As long as you see my kid’s bright shining face in your classroom – squeaky clean, in uniform, and ready to go, the rest is window dressing. (And I haven’t washed a window in years.)