We got the kids off to school on Monday, after surviving a really long weekend. Our third long weekend in a row. They’re actually sacred for us to recuperate, so I could feel the fatigue setting in. I was doing the thing. Yay Mondays, rally time. I tried for a healthy breakfast of yogurt at my desk, in between work and parenting and planning and checking off all my boxes… all after a nice night of insomnia. So when the bowl, my favorite bowl, slipped through my fingers, and shattered on the floor, that was what finally brought on the waterworks. Incomprehensible, eyes-swollen shuttered sobs of waterworks.
Fabulous photography by Light by Iris
“I’m a failuuuurrreeeee!” I moaned to Jamin who was absolutely distraught and confused yet also resigned, because this isn’t his first rodeo.
When I was finished having a moment, I realized this had been building for some time. Because it’s May. The last month of school in our area {Nashville}. What is it about the last month of school? It’s a fever-pitch of over-achievement insanity, worse than the pressure of Christmas, to be honest. It always is, and it totally blindsided me.
The kids are exhausted, the testing is rampant. We’re helping them manage their emotions at this point, while reminding them that our education system, while full of good people, is kind of broken for celebrating the wrong things. It feels like a real-life game of The Floor is Lava whilst trying to hoist them over the finish line. They will have tested consistently for over a month between standardized tests, AP exams and finals, by the time it’s all said and done. This isn’t Harvard. Can everyone calm down?
Weren’t they just this big?
I won’t even get into all the social events and additional paperwork for upcoming seniors. I know it’s just the beginning. Oh, and let’s throw in a busywork assignment of “The Cold War timeline” just for funsies via my ninth grader this past weekend that I ended up helping with because it was dumb. Not one time, in the history of ever, has a child completed this project only to step back and say “Oh wow, I didn’t realize that the USSR tested the first nuclear weapon in 1949”. And ACTUALLY REMEMBER IT over a week later.
I said what I said.
BTW, I think I’m clawing my child’s shoulder trying to get him to smile.
I don’t really care about what my child is doing in PE, so you don’t have to send me an email about it, RANDY. Really. I know you probably have to, but that’s a dumb policy someone made you follow so can I unsubscribe? While things have vastly improved on the demands of parental involvement since their elementary day school days, {THAT was SUPER needy amirite – I one hundred percent blame the rabid parents who need hobbies} I don’t think that a detailed email about my 9th grader’s badminton involvement is necessary. And if my eleventh grader hasn’t mastered his Geometry by now, he won’t… because those math emails go straight to the trash, and I need him to be independent, since he is seventeen. Thankssomuchnothanks.
While we’re at it, let’s throw in Mother’s Day and Teacher’s Appreciation all at once. Do I really need to explain these? I’m grateful. I’ll do the thing. Insert other obligatory disclaimers here. But in the last weeks of school? 1928 called they want their high-pressured parade of societal patriarchy nonsense back. I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again, who is in charge of scheduling?!
Regarding mother’s day: “The American incarnation of Mother’s Day was created by Anna Jarvis in 1908 and became an official U.S. holiday in 1914. Jarvis would later denounce the holiday’s commercialization and spent the latter part of her life trying to remove it from the calendar.”
Why you gotta be so extra, Jarvis? You suck. But at least she knew it.
In the meantime, the icing on the cake for me, is that I get to feel like an amazing mom because my daughter {hardcore fan} and I weren’t able to get tickets to TAY TAY last fall {we were snubbed by her waiting list though we tried} and we refused to drop 3k on possible scammer tickets last minute via Stub Hub in a moment of mom guilt this past weekend in the middle of a torrential downpour. Jamin searched for months. TELL ME I’M NOT ALONE. I’m still pretty sad she had to miss out, but the pressure in real-time parenting with non-stop social media bragging is overwhelming.
I am a plate spinner and a goal keeper and a safari guide all at once. They say that the key to great parenting is allowing your children to be unhappy. WE ARE KILLING IT.
Our parents generation really had it the best. No one paid attention to what they were doing. No one recycled or cared about the dangers of Twinkies as consistent snacks. No one received thirty emails a day about ELA scores and PTA meetings and SAT requirements. No one knew what Denise was doing at the NKOTB concert because social media didn’t exist. We children hid our progress reports if they were bad, and forged signatures like pros. We could leave the phone off the line for the busy signal if we thought a teacher might call. We also left the house so they couldn’t track us on Life 360. Is it just me, or did all adults look fifty when they were thirty because that was the fashion and I think everyone gave up? I’m this {} close to getting a mom cut with a perm and sporting the Dahmer glasses since forty is the new twelve and if you don’t look the part, you’re a failure.
I concur with the giving up. Pass the Twinkies.
These are all champagne problems, I know. That’s my point. And I’m not the only one who feels this way. I try every year to say no a little more, for my own sanity. Adulting and parenting and EXISTING is hard enough without all these extra outside pressures that really don’t matter at all in the long run. I just want to embrace my children where they are while I have them, without worrying about all the other stuff.
That’s what makes the passing of time, and parenting so hard.
We have a senior in a month. Maybe low key, that’s why I’m REALLY losing it.
So I dropped a bowl and realized why I was crying. See? I’m bringing it back around. At some point every day, I’m supposed to get in a workout and 12,000 steps and run a small business, and generate content and advertise, and be a good mother spending quality time with her children. I should grow everything from children to gardens to followers to clients. Don’t forget mental health. Don’t forget the husband. I should also cook full-on organic gluten-free meals and clean the entire house top to bottom while writing a best selling novel. If I don’t have my own chickens with fresh eggs, am I even living?! All whilst being skinny and keeping up with everyone’s doctor’s and orthodontist appointments. WHAT. You don’t also have a trust fund from a rich aunt saved up for your child’s college tuition that you dipped into for TAY TAY TICKETS?! I need a pedicure.
From this site: Mayday got its start as an international distress call in 1923. It was made official in 1948. It was the idea of Frederick Mockford, who was a senior radio officer at Croydon Airport in London. He came up with the idea for “mayday” because it sounded like the French word m’aider, which means “help me.”
So I dropped a bowl, and I realized, it’s May. We’re on the home stretch. I just want to get there sans stupid societal expectations. I’m so close to making a butter board with Cheetos, it’s scary. If you’re also dropping things, both metaphorically and literally… you’re not alone.
This happens every year. So, cheers to those who are with me. And instead of cheers, let’s just hysterically scream MAYDAY.
Obligatory disclaimer for those with rabies: douse your mob torches and pitch forks. This was written in jest and I hope some of you can relate. It’s dumb that I have to actually say I love teachers and I am so grateful because if you know me, you know this. They’re actually amazing. If you’re here to string me up by my toes for ranting a little, repeat after me: you’re part of the problem. Thank you for understanding. LIVE LAUGH LOVE, Patricia.
psssst… check out our camper party here– perfect for spring. Because I know you have time to throw one.
Christine Whittinghill says
Thank you. For once, I feel heard. I know we’ve never met, but after the Mayday post, I feel heard.
ashley @ the handmade home says
Let’s be besties from afar because you’re definitely not alone!
Anna says
This is brilliant. I too am one step away from eating a butter board with Cheetos and sporting an 80s perm. Let’s do it. Please keep writing!
Ellen says
Hilarious as usual. I lived through it and you will too. And you’re right about everything.
ashley @ the handmade home says
Haha! It’s not often I’m told I’m right about everything… Can you repeat that one for MY ENTIRE FAMILY?
Pam says
I love your rants!!! I also agree completely with everything you’ve just said. I’m 72 and I can still remember raising my three kids and feeling overwhelmed at the end of each school year but this generation makes what I had to do look like a day at the beach! My daughter knows how to say “no” when necessary yet still has all of – well, all the things you listed and I honestly don’t know how she manages it all. I am in awe. I could not have done it! So I salute you and support your brave efforts each May!!! You are doing great!! Onward!
Brooke says
Thank you for this! Just the laugh I needed today. My husband and I got into a fight this morning about the CALENDAR. Despite having a digital calendar on everyone’s phones, a HUGE wall calendar right next to the fridge, and a Skylight digital calendar right next to the coffee maker he had NO IDEA that we had a school function tonight (that had been on the calendar for 2 months) and he scheduled a work event. LOL! I thought my head was going to explode because May is INSANITY! Yay for only a few weeks left of school!
ashley @ the handmade home says
SO relatable! Make it stop 😂😂😂