In the eleventh hour of summer, my daughter Chloe decided she wanted to switch high schools.
Knowing the immense troubles she had faced at her previous one, I was willing to at least make an effort to do it for her.
After emails to multiple districts, and scrambling a bit, we decided to just do a walk-in to her preferred school campus.
(Mind you, this was the second-to-last Monday before school began. I like to tell myself I just work really well under pressure.)
I had already worked all summer long on various school related things, running our household behind the scenes to a seemingly completely shocked family, like the man behind the Emerald City’s curtain.
What could it hurt to just ask the office administrator about it all?
I told Chloe we would just go see what she could do to help us.
I always like school administrative staff.
They’re usually my favorite kind of dry-sense-of-humor, no-nonsense kind of people.
How else could they handle 1000 preteens or teens every day, inches from them, with their questions and their smells?
That really takes something special.
By the way this woman was complaining about a gnat that was hanging out by her face when we walked in the door, I could tell that I was going to like her.
When we approached her desk, looking sheepish because of the late date, asking if there was any way she thought Chloe would be able to get a transfer approved, and get registered in time to start school, this woman waved her hand dramatically at the gnat again, and said,
“Good news for you! I am a Magical Being!”
She handed us a stack of paperwork to fill out, and showed us to a
private room where we could do it.
I smiled as she led us.
A “Magical Being.” Ha!
I used to be one of those.
When the girls were small everything I did was magic.
Even decorating a cupcake could be a talent show!
I remember once when Tessa and Chloe were 3 and 4 and a song from The Little Mermaid came on, and I flawlessly sang it.
Their little faces when I belted every single word perfectly, how they looked at each other, then to me back and forth….I’ll never forget realizing the power I held in that moment.
Back then everything I drew was museum worthy!
Every dance move I did was a 10!
All of my loose change was instead “Princess Coins,” and they would absolutely delight at every little thing that I did for them.
But there I sat now in another school side room with a teenager who thinks I am magical no more.
The looks of awe and admiration have been replaced with a once-over of my outfit if we’re going to be seen together and we’re about to walk out the door.
When Tessa and Chloe were little, and were amazed by something I did,
they would both bug their eyes and just say the other one’s name to them.
It was their way of saying, “Are you even GETTING THIS?!”
That “Chloe!” and “Tessa!” – It was music to my ears.
I loved sharing my magic with them.
At 14 and 16 those comments and awe have been replaced with standard issue
Teen Looks of Disdain.
My shine has faded.
That mom who once hung the moon has a new, much less-touted one standing in her place.
But, there I was in the middle of thinking these thoughts, filling out my paperwork,
when from the next room I heard that same Magical Being talking to who I had to assume was her very own teenager now on the phone:
“What do you MEAN she is still asleep?! I told you you had to wake her!
We literally talked for 15 minutes just before I left on how important this was! Did she even eat?! I left her food. I even labeled it! Yes I did! It’s right there in the fridge, right in front of your face! Don’t even TRY telling me you couldn’t find it!
Oh! This makes me so upset! I just don’t get why my words don’t seem to matter to you!
Figure it out and then FIND IT.”
I knew she was flustered, but that only made me smile, not because I was happy,
but because, God in Heaven, I understood it.
This Magical Being was the same kind as me!
I felt a real sense of camaraderie with her.
Maybe I, too, could still be a Magical Being – at least when my girls were in school!
Even if it was still from behind the curtain, and they didn’t see it!
When we walked to her desk later to turn the filled-out paperwork in, I smiled and said to her,
“I have to tell you I overheard you talking to your kid, and I think I just fell in love with you.”
Realizing she had been caught by someone who KNEW, her shoulders dropped in what I read as relief.
We spent the next minutes commiserating about all the work moms put in behind the scenes,
and what we both know we’re capable of, with little to no recognition.
It was a real “Game recognized game” moment.
By the VERY NEXT DAY that transfer was complete, and Chloe was fully registered with and absolute dream of a schedule.
All I did was tell that woman I truly saw her, and, I mean, I don’t want to SAY we’re her new favorites, but,
It pays to give a woman credit.
So, I see you, Mom.
I see all you’re doing to make it all work in this hectic, gnat-swarm of a season;
Even if you say things a thousand times, and they can’t see what’s in front of their face,
and no one around you ever seems to get it.
I know this whole ship would sink if you were not there to run it.
If no one else will tell you, I will.
We both know where the true talent lies.
We Magical Beings have to stick together.
Mom Outnumbered
Hi! My name is Kerri Green; Wife to Justin, and mother to four highly entertaining daughters -Alena, Chloe, Tessa, and Paige. I am an artist, a writer, a daycare provider, a lover of people, a believer that there is humor and beauty in all things, and the author of Mom Outnumbered; a blog about real family life, and my observations of it. My goal is to make people laugh, to be there for them when they cry, and most importantly, to let them know that they are not at all alone in this up and down world. I live with my family in Sebastopol California, and I am opening the window into our life. So welcome! Come in. Sit down. Just please don’t mind the mysterious wet spots.
