ORIGINALLY POSTED ON YODELINGMAMAS.COM
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Last night, my husband sweetly told my son that he’d drive him to preschool in the morning. Since he’s done that a total of, say, 3 times, this was a big treat. For Munch and for me. (It’s not the he’s unwilling to take him, it’s just that usually Munch prefers I take him and I really enjoy it.)
This morning I decided to forgo the makeup and throw on sweats so I could dive into work. I recently started a new role that has me really excited about getting to work. I’m loving what I’m doing (and I’m not just saying that because my boss is likely to read this). I had a huge list of things to accomplish and since I’m working from home this morning, I could do them all—uninterrupted.
Then—just 10 minutes until preschool departure time—I realized that today is the one day of Teacher Appreciation Week I was actually supposed to do something. Two somethings, in fact. My son was supposed to have (at least) three handmade cards. And I was supposed to help my neighbor deliver flowers and wine to the entire staff. Panic set in.
I rushed my son over to the art table, handed him some paper, glitter glue, stickers and crayons and told him to create two of the most wonderful cards he could…in two minutes flat. I know, I know. I needed three cards. But luckily yesterday he and his nanny were feeling crafty, so I wrote a teacher’s name on their cutting and gluing exercise and checked one off the list. (Yes, Teacher K, that was yours.)
As you can imagine, my husband wasn’t really into the idea of joining the ladies for flower and wine deliveries, so he headed off to work and I headed off to preschool—with a disappointed kid and some slapped together cards (which happened to look slightly better than I did.)
“We” handed Munch’s cards to his teachers and they hung them—without judgment—next to all the beautiful creations that other moms had obviously had a hand in. And as I rushed off to give thanks to the rest of the staff, they took my sweet boy over to a “real” art project and waved goodbye with a warm smile. And their quiet understanding of what it’s like to be a working mom is just one of the hundreds of things I appreciate about my son’s teachers—today, and every day.
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