Last night I had the pleasure of attending my daughter’s middle school spring concert. Well, I say “the pleasure” now, but until the lights went down in the crowded auditorium I did nothing but complain to Louisiana.
“It’s on a school night?” Evangeline, my second-grader, was pooped by days’ end.
“You have to be there by 6:15?” I’d have to leave work early. Again.
“Black pants and white shirt required?” We’d have to borrow something.
“It might run till 8:30 pm?” What about dinner.
On and on.
I guess the public school system couldn’t please a working mom like me. Events scheduled during the school day interfered with my job, and those in the evening compromised our already full weeknight routine. But I’d learned my lesson about missing too many of these school events, no matter what.
When Louisiana was in pre-school I took the liberty of declining the very first invitation to join the children in the classroom for cookies and milk. Cookies and milk? Who would miss me? I explained to Louisiana—quite convincingly, I thought—that I couldn’t be at her school for everything like some of the other moms, but promised never to miss the most important events. Louisiana simplified my explanation to her classmates: She claimed to have no mother.
So yesterday I left work a little early, raced home, and snatched Louisiana (in her borrowed outfit) and her sister from the babysitter. We made it to the middle school on time without speeding. Louisiana went off to find her group, and Evangeline and I snagged a front-row seat in the auditorium. She munched on whole grain Goldfish and sipped apple juice, while I caught up with parents I too rarely see.
The kids filed onto the stage and the lights dimmed. I had a perfect view of Louisiana, and when her eyes found me she lit up like one of the ten million fireflies in that catchy new pop song they sang. My cares flew out the window on angels’ wings. Evangeline and I swayed to the music. This was an important event.
