During the many years when my five children were in elementary school, I prided myself — and exhausted myself — volunteering every week, in their classrooms and elsewhere in the building.
If you were looking for me in those days, you’d find me working in the math center (and trying to recall my own second-grade math), stapling construction paper to a bulletin board to advertise the upcoming spaghetti supper, or leading the Book Fair, Games Day, and Halloween Parade committees.
My own parents weren’t even sure where our school was, much less the names of our teachers. So, in my eternal quest to be The Better Parent, I threw myself into these school-supporting roles. My kids would love it, I thought. We’d make memories to last a lifetime.
I was at my kids’ school for over 15 years
My “second career” began with my oldest in kindergarten. I became part of the KC team and showed up faithfully to help with reading packets and Fun with Plants. Mind you, at the time, my first daughter was the ripe old age of 10 months. We were a familiar sight in the hallway, baby bobbing gamely along on my back in a carrier. I swear she learned to sing “The Clean Up Song” before she learned to say “Mama.”
Courtesy of the author
And so it went, for more than 15 years. I was forever cutting out paper snowmen and quizzing on fractions in one classroom or another. In addition, I was the classroom mother the year our youngest was born. It was a winter of frequent snow, ice, school cancellations, and delays. In those prehistoric times before the internet, I was a vital cog in the wheel of school district communication.
I’d get a call from the principal around 5 a.m., usually seconds after nursing my newborn back to sleep, with glad tidings of school closure. It was then my task to call the other households in the class. Many were the dawns spent juggling the phone and my now-awake, screaming infant.
My kids don’t remember much of my involvement
While there were many enjoyable aspects of volunteering, looking back, I spent way too much time pulling into the elementary school parking lot. But it was worth it to hear my now-grown children share their many memories of the wonderful helper mom they once had, right? Except, they don’t have any memories. So, all that extra value bonding I assumed was going on wasn’t.
Soon after my oldest grandson began kindergarten, the pandemic hit. When the students finally returned to school, there were new rules for volunteer engagement. In addition to having multiple clearances (which had been true for a while), visitors were strictly limited as to where, when, and even if they could be on the premises at all. I couldn’t help notice how well the actual staff was handling the kids’ education, largely unassisted. And when he got off the bus, our little guy had news to share about his day that his folks or Nana had not already witnessed.
Courtesy of the author
I’ve come to appreciate the change very much. I’ve learned that perhaps a battalion of other adults with them constantly might not have been such a thrill for the teachers after all. Being read-aloud mom in 1A isn’t really superior to being read-aloud mom at home at night. And besides, a little parental absence is good emotional preparation for middle school when, I know from experience, the tweens will anticipate your appearances there with pure dread.
I appreciate how things have changed
My son and daughter-in-law have struck just the right balance, a balance that eluded me in my frantic attempts to be Super Mommy.
They have lives and music careers of their own and are not the first on the signup sheet for the museum field trip. My grandkids adore their parents, even though their attendance at the Science Fair behind the scenes may be poor. My son and daughter-in-law are definitely there when it counts, and from time to time will even come in and play music for the kids and their classmates. Otherwise, they are letting the trained and loving teachers and staff do their jobs.
Nowadays, when I do enter the hallowed halls of elementary school, usually for a concert or other event, it’s a special treat, for my grandkids and for me.
Separation of home and school — what a concept.
