Thought some of you might be able to relate....
PTA Mom
By K. K. Choate
Elementary school brought two things: lice and the PTA. Both landed squarely in my lap and I'm not sure which was worse. Lice, beastly little vermin that they are, eventually went away. Of course, it took two months and almost two hundred dollars worth of shampoos and sprays for the whole family - not to mention the additional laundry. But no matter what I scrub, I just can't get rid of the PTA.
I should explain that part of the problem is that I have a genetic disorder called "martyr's syndrome." My mother has it too. What it does is cause us to jump up and run around screaming, "I can do it! Pick me! Pick me!" any time anyone, and I do mean anyone, mentions that they might need help with something. It doesn't matter what it is. We volunteer. Need someone to pick up your kids even though it's painfully inconvenient? I'll do it. Want your driveway stenciled in cute little bunnies? No problem. Need a position filled for the PTA? Well, I'm your gal.
Certifiably nuts is what I am.
The first year was a cakewalk. I was a room mother. I don't know who I impressed but this year I'm not only a room mother - head room mother to boot - but also on the Carnival Committee, the Committees Committee and Youth Protection Chairman, the latter being my formal title. A more accurate description would be Chief Patsy.
My husband often tells me he is under grave duress during the day, but has he ever had to put on a six-foot giant bug costume and entertain six hundred squealing kids ages four to ten?
Any mother willing to cram her ample body into head to toe yellow tights and don a Louie the Lightning Bug outfit deserves the Mother of the Year award. And I'm not saying that because I did it. No, I'm saying it because a total stranger had to pry me out of the blasted thing. Getting in is easy; getting out is a different story - just like the PTA.
It's work - hard, thankless work. Relax is not in the vocabulary of a PTA mom. But boy, oh boy, volunteer is. The other day I was trying unsuccessfully to weasel a neighbor, a mom with three kids, into volunteering for the school carnival. Her excuse for not helping out at the carnival was, "I like to keep my weekends free."
Free? With three kids?
I go to the bathroom with two kids and the dog staring at me. I take a shower with a door that mysteriously swings open every two seconds because my toddler wants in or my husband can't find the kitchen. Nothing breaks or disappears until I get in the bathroom.
My only comfort is knowing that I am not alone. The mommas I pass in the school's halls every day have the same glassy-eyed look I do. We catch ourselves frantically patting our clothing to make sure it's on right-side out before we enter the school. Forget matching clothing. This is elementary school. Most of the kids dress themselves. Do you think the teachers will notice one more set of clashing colors? I've seen these kids. It's a wonder the teachers aren't colorblind out of self-preservation.
It's a good thing they don't expect us to look like June Cleaver. June Cleaver never had to chase a greased naked little boy who anointed himself and the cat with a super-sized bottle of baby oil, or scrape peanut butter off the toilet seat. Who has time for makeup and pearls? I'm lucky to brush my hair. The teachers, bless their hearts, don't care if we're naked. They're so glad to see parents who care enough to show up and do something.
Which is why the PTA gets under your skin. Thankless, yes. More work than you thought, yes. Aggravating and annoying, yes, yes. But when I peeled out of that god-awful bug getup, all sweaty and unappealing, my daughter hugged me and said, "You were great! You're the best mom ever!"
That's why, no matter how much it makes me itch, I just can't shake the PTA. And maybe, just maybe, I love it.
Chicken Soup for the Soul
Thank you for sharing it with us!
