I registered my kid for pre-k this morning. And it sucked. A whole new vortex of suck has knocked on my door. I have had 4 years of pretty much doing as I please with my child and now I am entering into the world of having less control over her and her world. I do not like change, I do not like loss of control, and I absolutely do not like dealing with authority figures.
But I have to suck it up.
It was bad enough with the room full of kids running riot and parents. My kid actually behaved pretty well, she was excited. I am glad she was excited. Because mommy felt like she was facing a firing squad.
They have to do a home visit. I do not understand this. I do not like people in my home, judging me. I can’t say I have anything to hide. Not like I have a meth lab in my kitchen or a pot crop in the yard. It’s just that this is my safe space and having it violated by outsiders seems blasphemous. It’s been tough enough with the kids swooping in like little vultures and touching my stuff. Now to have some socially appropriate person come in and judge my housekeeping and decor and methods of child rearing…It is freaking me out.
By the time we got through the various lines, I just wanted out. This one woman had four kids, and one was literally latched onto her leg and she was dragging it across the room while the others bellowed. I felt sorry for her. I also felt utterly panicked. So of course they decide to use me as a test case to sit at their computer station and fill out the rest of the paper work. I hate unfamiliar computers. I hate chaotic environments. I am absolutely incapable of using a damn touch pad to save my life. If it’s more than a two minute job, I require an external mouse. I am just not coordinated, I guess. I kept stumbling through what would have taken me two seconds at home. The panic response just kicked in and I said, ” I have to do this at home, is that okay?” And fled the scene like a burglar fleeing the scene of his crime.
Came home to finish the paper work. My God, what a pain in the ass. If I could have just used pen and paper, I wouldn’t have minded. (Funny, coming from a computer junkie, huh?) But having her application reliant on my brain functioning properly enough to get the forms to go through properly. I normally have no qualms about my computer skills. But when it’s unfamiliar territory and I am in panic mode and especially as of late with all the brain fade…Paper and pen would have been better.
I know it’s just outside my comfort zone and I will adapt. Maybe not to the authority thing or other parents, since my social skills are lacking. But the other kids…I am good with kids. We saw one of the neighbor kids over at the school and she yelled “Hi, Niki!” Which made me happy, considering her mother stomped over and dragged her out of my yard last night and all I could think is, what, what did I do? Paranoid scumbag brain has already started constructing paranoid theories on this.
In addition to the woman seeming hostile and yapping on her phone, she basically lifted her kid off the glider by one arm and dropped her on the ground. Then kept grabbing her by the one arm and pushing and dragging her back home. Every time I think I am getting the mom thing wrong, someone comes along to highlight that I am practically Mary fucking Poppins by comparison. I don’t know why people have kids if they’re just going to treat them like shit. I am aware it goes on all the time, my brain just rejects the concept.
Now I am babysitting Damiana and her brother while her mom is at the doctor with the sick baby. R wants me to come in. I am totally freaking about this home visit on the 16th. My brain is on hyperdrive. I should do something. I have a ton of laundry, dishes, et al.But I am just frozen with panic and anxiety and paranoia. It’s like all I can do is sit and chain smoke. And create elaborate conspiracy theories on the other parents and this home visit.
I hate trying to live up to the expectations of others, especially others of a different social ilk. They expect better because they have better. I work with what I have and frankly, a few cobwebs in the corner and crayon on the walls are not high on my priority list. Yet some people (like Mrs R) consider dust to be a catastrophic event. And that’s probably the type who will be judging me.
I freaked out like this back when Spook was born and WIC did the home visit. Of course, we hadn’t been here that long and didn’t have much so there wasn’t a whole lot of mess to worry about. Four years later, the carpet is stained, the place smells musty, a cockroach is seen from time to time (maintenance guy says every trailer has them and the landlord won’t spray.) This is major stress. My kid is my life, ffs. She is healthy and happy, has what she needs. Why should my dust bunny collection have any bearing?
I am aware I am probably making a big deal out of nothing. But then again, what if I get a stickler who thinks crayon on the walls is a health hazard and they take my kid away?
I don’t give a damn what people think of me as a person.
I do however give a damn what people think of me as a mom as it impacts my kid’s friends and my kid’s not being yanked out of my home.
So I will just have to go on a mad cleaning frenzy the night before and hope it’s good enough. If it’s not, I think I will mount a war. I have seen much much worse. Hell, I grew up with much worse. (We had to brush our teeth in the bathtub, the roaches had their own condos, and half the floors were bare plywood as stable as a cotton ball.) Point is, it didn’t kill me. It didn’t harm me.
So why am I sweating this?
Because it’s what I do, I sweat the small stuff and then when something catastrophic happens (like the donor walking out) I rise to the occasion with grace.
How did I get this fucked up?