My son’s sweet preschool recently hosted a tea for the parents. For any of you who have been reading along with my blog for a while, you understand that my idea of fun doesn’t really include making small talk with a bunch of strange women. Think: I’d rather beat my head against a brick wall. But since I’m new at this preschool gig, it’s probably a good idea to get involved. And since they provided childcare for my daughter, any excuses to blow off the event were looking feeble. Thus I found myself in full-on tea preparation mode.
My dilemna over what I would wear started early. My wardrobe provides two choices: yoga pants and dresses I whip out for weddings and the like. Neither choice seemed appropriate for this. As my dressing hysteria built, I consulted my dear friend JB, who had attended this tea before and had been incredibly supportive with encouraging me to attend the event and promising that it would be fun. Regarding attire she said that she would be wearing dark jeans (jeans somehow automatically become fancy if dyed darker, you know) and a “top that she wouldn’t wear to the playground”. That’s why I love this girl; she completely speaks my language.
While I debated my wardrobe in the wee hours of the night when sleep escaped me, I found loads of other things to fuss over. Would my daughter (currently in the supreme height of separation anxiety) be kicked out of the nursery? If she was and I ended up having to keep her with me, how would I prevent her from knocking over every single cup of tea in the room? How many moms would be scowling at me for letting my 15 mo. old daughter loose in their supposed respite from the world of caring for young kids?
What if I was the odd one out and everyone else in the room had a bestie but me? What if all the other mothers had intelligent things of the world to talk about and all I could say was, “Wasn’t Mickey great in his newest episode?”. What if, in their carefully crafted outfits, they pointed at me and laughed? What if I freaked out, stopped being able to breathe properly, entered into a full-blown panic attack, and had to be taken to the ER? Who would pick my son up when school was over?
This is why I don’t go out. It’s just not a good idea.
But I love my son, so I went. And here’s the real shocker: those other moms were really nice. Go figure! And my daughted loved being loved on by some very kind ladies manning the nursery that day. Above all, I had a good time. As it turns out, JB was right, and my hysteria was perhaps slightly unfounded. Now don’t get me wrong—I will not be signing up with free abandon for every tea date that comes down the pike, but I did okay with this one. And really, it wasn’t bad at all.
Bottoms up with your tea cups, my friends. This Mom of the Year is raising hers in toast to being brave, biting the bullet with the preschool parents’ tea, AND surviving.
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