We are almost 9 months into preschool, and I can’t help thinking that in the time it takes for a human baby to gestate, I should definitely understand what’s going on in the preschool scene. I mean, I should understand the rhythms of the other parents and share a vibe with them since our kids are in the same school. For the love of circle time, shouldn’t there be more common ground than not common ground at this point?
I thought so.
But there’s nothing like a call for preschool chaperones to really drive home my deepest fear: I don’t know what the fuck is going on.
Sure, I thought it might be fun to shepherd a bunch of 3-year olds to a “working” farm one day. Who doesn’t love a jaunty bus ride on a rickety old school bus? But I also thought it might be fun to get a pedicure while some other mothers watched my kid pet a domesticated pig.
Is that so crazy?
The real drama started when the teachers announced that the number of chaperones would be limited to three. GASP! Only three lucky mothers would be selected from the group of us to load her purse up with Purell and head out to Green Acres.
There was a lottery, a panel of impartial lottery number selectors, a PriceWaterhouse representative to ensure that the drawing was fair– all to avoid the spectacle of hurt feelings and devastation for those not selected this time.
Fair readers, do you think I was chosen? Do you think I got the morning off for some ME time with my favorite pedicurist, or do you think I was selected to get my hay bales on and enjoy unlimited whiffs of cow excretion?
Check here for my latest post at Mom.Me to see how I charted the waters of the Chaperoning Sea. Then you can explain the hoopla to me, but I still don’t get it.