Volunteer work

Well, it’s official. I am the suburban soccer mom. I drive a minivan and volunteer once a week at my son’s school. I am not a do-gooder. I wish I was a better person, but I am actually doing this out of guilt. My 5-year-old is the classic, neglected middle child. The oldest keeps you busy. The baby keeps you busier. The middle child keeps himself busy. I am trying to make up for being a lousy mother when he was in pre-school. I missed a field trip, the day he was the classroom leader and school pictures. In my defense, I had two miscarriages last year and was scatterbrained. Still, I felt guilty as hell. I am pretty sure I will end up appearing with him on an episode of Dr. Phil.

I go into the classroom once a week to help with small group activities. My son looks forward to it. It has confirmed for me what I have long suspected. I could never be a teacher. They are angels. I don’t have the patience to spend more than an hour with 20 kindergartners. Today, while helping a little girl write her name, I was insulted. “Oh my gawd! You have coffee breath,” she yelled. Is it wrong that the first thing that popped into my head was a “Your Mama” joke? I refrained. “I’m sorry. I am drinking coffee,” I said. Maybe if she could behave and learn the alphabet I could take a week off. “Well, you nasty,” she replied. I grinned, “Do you know what letter the word nasty starts with?” She rolled her eyes. “Duh, M.” I have my work cut out for me.

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