Are Room Mothers Masochists?
What causes fatigue? Too much alcohol, caffeine, partying, TV? Phooey, I say!
I know what's tiring. Working a job in your kid's classroom!
It's elementary, my dear room mother.
Dear Ms. Yokelclinger,
I’m happy as Planter’s Punch you are my kid’s teacher this year. I look forward to
working like a dog breaking labor laws volunteering tirelessly in the classroom. After a seemingly endless summer keeping my kids entertained, hydrated, fed, culturally stimulated, lathered with sunscreen, and blooming like buttercups, I’m really thrilled to tears to be your complete and total slave parent helper.
Because I am deliriously dedicated to my child’s education, I will be on call 24-7 should you need anything. I love to stay up ’til 4:00 a.m. doing my own damn work so during the day I can organize your agonizingly boring field trip to the friggin’ moth museum, construct the goat cart for the Kwanzaa harvest, and cook 15 dozen gluten-free, apple crumb cupcakes for Earth Day.
How precious it is that you observe so fully every idiotic holiday known to mankind and that you do it via artsy fartsy crafting. Martha Stewart would be proud of your intent, but disapproving of the grossly inferior quality you inspire.
Because I’m not fully satisfied by the joy of supervising my kids’ tedious crap home work, running migraine-inducing carpools, making “healthy” lunches my kids won’t chuck in the nearest dumpster, snack preparation, clothing coordination, and insisting upon occasional baths… I give myself to you.
As your unpaid assistant, I will not expect any perks, nor will my child receive any special privileges like a pass on a particularly pesky pop quiz or those God-awful push-ups in gym class. I will not, for a moment, resent your generous benefits, ironclad union protections, plum pension, or the ultimate gift – the gift of time – yes, every summer off.
If for some reason you can’t reach me (say, around mid-November or early December), I’ll be in Rehab.
Warm Fuzzies, Your Dutiful Room Parent