My daughter goes to a preschool that we can’t really afford. It is the best in the state and it is driving us deep into debt to send her there. My son went there too. It is a long story, but we have committed to keeping her there for another year until she is ready for Kindergarten.
Instead of the regular school photos that most places do, which are expensive already in my opinion, my daughter’s school has a private boutique photographer come in to do photos of the children. And these photos cost the equivalent of a flight to the moon, in my opinion.
Most of the other parents are doctors and lawyers and business people who can afford such tom foolery.
We have skipped on the photos for the past two years, but for some reason my hubs decided that we would go for it this time around.
So we paid the sitting fee and then completely forgot about it.
My husband sent me a picture of my daughter standing by her cubby in a pair of leopard-print leggings that were ripped in the knee, a mis matched top, and her fine, curly hair completely unbrushed.
She was glaring at his camera phone with glassy, annoyance because I had also sent her to school sick.
Beneath this photo, read my husband’s simple text: Photo Day.
I wanted to cry.
Not only had I sent my poor little ragamuffin to school sick, but I sent her dressed like something out of a Charles Dickens story on picture day.
This is the crap that makes me feel totally out of control of my life.
This is the crap that makes me feel like I am juggling furiously, but the balls still keep dropping everywhere, and then I am tripping over them in an attempt to gather them all together again.
I went off to work feeling sad, mad, overwhelmed. I ran a red light in my distraction and I’m pretty sure my transgression was caught in the flashes of a traffic camera.
It all made me want to cry.
Sure a good laugh was had by all the other working moms at work, who let me know they had done the same, exact thing at one point or another.
I still wanted to cry.
The other day, I wrote about about losing our shit as moms, and how we need to practice self acceptance and self compassion in our day to day, so that it will be there for others.
Ever notice how things are so much easier blogged than done?