I have a
confession, guys. It’s not a good one. It’s ugly, really ugly. I found
something out about myself this past week, and it’s enough to make me sick.
This whole time I thought I was Annie, maybe even Megan, from Bridesmaids but I
am absolutely, 100% Helen. There it is. I am Helen. I’m competitive, slightly
arrogant, I have a mean streak, and I am insecure to top off the old self-hate
sundae. I might not be planning a bridal shower, but I am planning a preschool
Halloween party, and this whole thing has brought out the she-wolf in me.
I have “mom-ed” so hard this week I popped a blood vessel and
my left eye is doing this permanent, irritating twitch. I can’t make it stop. I
look like I forgot my medicine. When my son started school, I was literally the
first to sign up to be Room Mother (all caps, it’s a super important gig), so there’s
my stupid name, on the stupid list, front and center, CAITLYN SHITHEAD GEORGE.
I thought I was being a super present, awesome mom. Look at me go, I thought,
first in line, I’ll make some cute Pinterest fail pretzel skeletons, and stand
around and “assist” the teachers. I have never been so wrong.
I walk into school last week and the teachers pull me aside
to tell me they usually have a craft, some games, snacks, treat bags, and story
time, and I will need to organize the whole thing, and make a sign-up sheet for
the other parents to donate things towards this dumb party. WHAT?!? I am
already on edge having to do my make-up every day for drop-off, and now this??
I smile so hard wisdom teeth I had pulled 8 years ago are showing, nod like I
knew all along what Room Mother meant, and pat my son on the head, and walk out
backwards, two thumbs up, winking at the teach. “You got it sister, I’m good to
go!” I think she thinks I’m manic, I don’t know.
I immediately go home and cuss out my husband, it’s obviously
HIS fault as he insisted on sending our son to this pretentious, over-priced,
elitist, college prep, DAY CARE, and it’s his fault I am now in charge of
making sure no one asphyxiates when I accidentally organize a party with
peanuts everywhere for the allergic kids. After I calm down, which for me, means voraciously
chain smoking for an hour while crying to my mom, I take action. And here is
where Helen comes into this sad story.
I made an
actual agenda, down to the minute, every second of this party is meticulously
planned out. I made this over the top photo booth, a wooden pallet sign; I used
chalk paint to write the name of the school as a prop, as well as some rustic
pumpkins, a back drop, I even got hay bales guys. Hay. Bales. I’m going to snap everyone’s picture and run
down to the one-hour photo, so for craft time they can decorate a frame with
their Halloween costume photo sesh pic inside. I have 14 pumpkins to paint and
decorate, games, cutesy Halloween snacks, and I am ashamed to admit, 14 signed
copies of my book.
I have a book published. “You Dooooooooo?” – (Annie)
Everyone. I even wrote every parent a letter, detailing the party, what I
needed donated and a rage-inducing poem I wrote called The Invitation, about a
Halloween party at a spooky, haunted house. I know, I know, it’s so damn
obnoxious! Guys, I titled the poem and did this at the end: “ –Caitlyn George”…
I HATE ME TOO!! Like, why? Last, but certainly not least, I made every mother
who is helping me some homemade, organic goat shit soap, I mean milk, PRINTED
OFF A HYMN, SOAKED IT IN COFFEE TO MAKE IT RUSTIC AND WRAPPED THEM, DECORATED
THEM WITH EFFING BIRDS, AND PUT THEM IN A BAG THAT SAYS “YOU’RE A TWEET-HEART.”!!!!!!!
I literally have never wanted to punch myself so hard in the face. I may as
well go all out, like Helen, and hand out puppies at the end.
I wanted so
hard to show everyone what an amazing mother I am, how thoughtful, clever,
witty and creative I am. I write poems, I make my own soap, I’m published, and
rainbows come out of my ass, meanwhile, like Helen’s step children in
Bridesmaids, my own kids are like, “we hate you.” I was so desperate to crush
all the other moms, and walk away with them wondering, what CAN’T this bitch
do, that I am the exact type of person, or rather, I am behaving like the type
of woman, I cannot stand. I want to be friends with Megan, who hits on Air
Marshals and takes 9 puppies home. Instead I am acting like Helen, with her
giant cookie and bleached butt…
Every day I tell
Dominic as I send him off to show the other kids in his class who is in his
heart. I mean Jesus. I am sitting here staring at this box of party supplies,
ashamed at how passive aggressive, competitive and insecure I was being. I don’t
need to prove myself to anyone, I don’t need to be perfect and 4 year olds don’t
give a rip about rustic autumnal décor vs. tacky plastic ghost figurines. I may
have put together a cute party, but in doing so I will have made every single
woman I have to work with, hate my guts. I know I would. I can whip up some handmade
soap, but am I nice? Am I kind? My poems might be okay, but am I funny? Can I
poke fun at myself and be humble? These are the things that matter, and I think
with that being said, tomorrow, when I drop my kid off, I’ll be true to myself
and show up in pajama pants, and let them all hear me screaming into the
backseat, “KNOCK IT OFF YOU LITTLE SHITS!”. I tell my kids constantly that it’s better to
put yourself down, and let someone else raise you up, than to do it yourself
and allow the world to destroy you. I am who I am. And that alone should be something
to be proud of, there is no reason to try so hard to show off. My kids love me,
and they are happy and healthy. Be an Annie, not a Helen.
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