On Missing My Daughter's Preschool Graduation

Family Friday

Well, it finally happened.  Before going back to work full-time last November, I envisioned heart-wrenching scenarios in which I miss all of the important events in my kids’ lives, become less familiar with their friends and teachers, and generally isolate myself from their everyday existence.  For the most part, none of this has come to pass. 

Until now, that is.  Seven months after I started working, I missed my daughter’s preschool graduation on Wednesday morning. 

The obstacle involved a meeting, which a co-worker would have cheerfully covered had he not been out of town.  If this had been a true emergency or once-in-a-lifetime event, my boss or someone else from a different office could have easily taken my place. 

Using my working-mom cost-benefit calculus, however, I had to determine if the event was truly worth this level of effort.  If I cash in my chips too quickly, I worry, they may not be there when I really want or need them.  And mind you, the children "graduate" every year.  My daughter graduated last year, and she’ll graduate again next year.  

From attending last year's graduation (and my son's from prior years), I knew that we would all cram our adult-sized butts into miniature chairs, praying silently for the chairs to remain intact.  The children would recite the Pledge of Allegiance, sing patriotic songs off-key, and giggle.  Then the teacher would say something about each child's progress over the year and hand out little certificates.  While always positive, her comments typically contain a slight zinger sandwiched within (e.g., "Samantha has made great progress this year in math and reading, moving up past the Bob series and trinomial cube.  We sure are glad that she’s stopped whining so much when she feels wronged!  Great job, Samantha!"  Pictures would then ensue.  That's it - no big whoop. 

 

Over the last two weeks, however, whenever the teacher sent an e-mail about the pending event, my stomach lurched.  I've noticed a similarly squishy sensation when my husband takes my son to swim team practices.  Although I was the swim team parent last year, my husband has inherited this duty now that I am working.  While a lovely man, attention to detail has not historically been his forte.  I find myself calling him every afternoon, about half an hour before practice.  I emphasize the importance of getting our son to practice on time, as well as making sure he has a snack beforehand.  Remember the goggles, I add.  And the swim fins.  And the meet registration form.  Typically, out of a list of three things, my husband will remember one of them - on a really good day, perhaps two out of three.  Oh geez.

Have I fallen prey to the indispensability myth that I have frequently accused others of holding?  My rational side knows that I do not have to be present for absolutely everything.  And that if my son has a parent who reliably does his thinking for him, he will never learn to remember things on his own.

Back to the preschool graduation - it happened, and without me.  They skipped the Pledge of Allegiance and the singing this year.  Previously banned from the event, siblings were now present, raising the decibel level to previously unregistered heights.  The teacher's comments were reportedly more vague this year - perhaps to avoid any parental feather-ruffling that may have occurred in the past.   

 

My husband and my mother both attended.  Surrounded by all of her friends, my little extravert did not notice my absence.  The birds kept singing and the world went on.  Squishy feeling has subsided.

No, I am not indispensable - my children can get along just fine without me.  Isn't that the goal of parenting in the first place? 

And to be fair to my husband (who may read this blog if he doesn't forget to) - he really has started to get the hang of the swim team routine. 

 

by Jenny Douglas Vidas

Comments

[Stacy Feuer]

I loved this post, Jenny, as I love all your wisdom. I missed one of my daughter's birthdays (couldn't get home until the next day) and it didn't matter to her at all surrounded, as she was, by her dad, teachers, friends and my parents. (Of course, she was only 4). Now, if I had missed the birthday party that would be another story . . . .