Here I come to save the day. As I swooped in my daughters 2nd grade classroom today, for her Oktoberfest celebration, I knew it was true. I was completely certain that I, Andrea, was a superhero.
Rather than show up to work early on a Friday (lame), this superhero opted to make the supreme sacrifice and sleep in an extra hour in order to head to her kids school. (I have never been supermom, and employee of the year simultaneously). I practically skipped into Ella's school (likely from the extra hour's sleep), waltzed into her classroom to a whirlwind of 2nd grade commotion, and was pummeled with a giant, exquisite, baby girl, love of my life, squeeze. The thrill of knowing I put her first (right behind my sleep needs, but well before my work responsibilities), was intoxicating.
She and I hugged and snuggled. I watched all the little crazies pound the sugar, much like I pound beer at an Adult Oktoberfest. And I must say, watching them get wound up on sugar and run around in circles was not too far off from my own crazy experiences with this special German celebration. We listened to a story, did a craft, snuggled and hugged some more. The morning could not have been more perfect.
Ella, noting the time, and recognizing the fast approaching end to our frivolity, started the grand negotiations that so frequently accompany visits like this.
"Momma, can I come home with you?'
"Sorry, baby, momma has to go to work soon."
"But, Mom, I can just sit in your office all day."
"Ella, I have a meeting at 11, and I can't have you sitting in my office all day."
"But, but, I will be really quiet."
"I'm not going to argue with you about this."
"Why, mom, why can't I leave with you?"
"Ella, aside from the fact that you still have 3/4 of your day left at school, and that we aren't arguing about this, I already told you, I have to go to work."
Now come the tears... oh she is a brilliant crier. She starts with those enormous drops of pure sorrow. You can practically see and feel the sadness in each enormous tear. They well up in her big gorgeous liquid eyes, until there is no other choice but to come spilling out and down her sweet round cherubic cheeks. My heart is in my throat. I am completely and utterly heartbroken.
"Mom, why can't you start working at the school? Then I could see you all the time. Grace's mom works at the school, and they can eat lunch together every day."
Oh my poor heart...
"Baby, I would if I could. I have a job, and I'm sorry that it isn't at the school. I would much rather spend my entire day with you. Sadly, I can't."
Tears streaming... the other parents are looking. Sympathetic faces... They don't have meetings or jobs to go back to so there kids are still all smiles. I am smug. Its just me and my girl clinging desperately at the injustice of it all. She and I against the world (fist pump in the air in defiance)!
Sigh, "Ella, here is your choice. I can walk you to lunch, and then leave, or I can leave now amidst your tears."
Duh, no brainer.
"I just want to go with you..." Tears, tears, sob, sob...
"Make your choice, Ella, or I am choosing for you!"
Sniff, sniff, sorrowful gaze, "Okay fine, lunch please."
So, we hold hands and morosely walk to lunch, where in there are more tears and me trying to distract her with funny voices and sounds. I practically do a full on tap dance routine to get a smile on her face. Nothing works. Then, faster than a speeding bullet, her little friend sits across from her in the lunchroom. The friend is highly entertained by my antics, which helps distract Ella. I finally am able to sneak away, from the pleading sad face of my heart.
Once out of the cafeteria, I sneak away from her view to see how long she continues to cry. I'm a total masochist with this stuff. I have to know how long I've devastated my baby, so I can wallow in the guilt of it all day long. Its emotional gluttony, and a delicacy in some parts of the world (of my own making). Low and behold, its an Oktoberfest miracle! She has an enormous grin on her face, and is laughing hysterically with her friend.
WHAT!! REALLY, KID? THAT'S IT?
You tell me... did I just get played, AGAIN, by my 7 year old? UGH Um, yeah, you betcha!
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