Waterworks

I have always prided myself on ‘keeping it together’ during times when other mothers shapeshift into blubbering heaps of maternal embarrassment. I don’t cry on the first day of school. I don’t cry at Pre-K graduations. Or K graduations. In fact, I die laughing every time I see the scene where Mr. Incredible gets lectured for missing his son’s 4th grade graduation:

Helen: I can't believe you don't want to go to your own son's graduation.
Bob: It's not a graduation. He is moving from the 4th grade to the 5th grade.
Helen: It's a ceremony!
Bob: It's psychotic!

In my never ending pursuit of full-disclosure with you, though, the real reason I relate to Bob (Mr. Incredible) and the reason I make fun of my maternal peers is that I’m secretly worried that there’s something WRONG with me. Why don’t I cry at these occasions? Why can’t I appreciate the momentousness of these milestones? What kind of monster mother am I??????

Thankfully, I now know that the timing in my blubbering engine is just a little off. A case in point is last week’s PTA meeting. It was the kind of meeting where they bribe you to come by tacking on a musical program at the end. You know; the musical program with your child in it. So we went, as we’ve done since Pearce was in Kindergarten. For six years I have sat in the audience and not cried while other parents misted up and even shed a few poignant, dramatic tears proving that they love their kids more than I love mine. But during the last PTA meeting, something in me broke. And I mean broke. I was admiring the absolute genius of Cole’s performance. I was swelling. And then, the show ended and the choir teacher stood up to say thanks for coming. I thought of how great she is and how much I’ve enjoyed her shows over the years. And it hit me. Because Stone and Cade will go to a different elementary, this was the last of these performances at this school. And as the kids went into their completely awesome school song, I felt the heat rise in my face and I knew something terrible was imminent. It surprised me as my eyes were filled with alien moisture. Then, my attention was directed to Pearce, who was standing with a group of ‘alumni’ – all singing and doing the hand motions to the school chant. And I did one better than cry, people. I broke down. I drew a mixture of horrified and sympathetic looks from the people seated nearest me as I sobbed semi-quietly.

I had a cathartic realization. I realized how proud I was of my kids. I realized how much I appreciated the school and how much I’d miss it after this year is over. I realized that both my older children were flagship kids at that school and that they’d broken in those hallways, those classrooms, and those school songs. And the realization of it all broke me in a way I had no defense against. I was not the mother who makes other mothers feel bad for not crying. I was the mother other mothers look at and say, “Thank goodness I’m not that lady (or her kids).” I had a chance to compose myself as the Art teacher made announcements and the kids were ushered into the cafeteria for pick-up. I managed to make it through telling Cole how proud I was of him without more waterworks. But on the way home, when I was alone in the car, I cried more. This time in earnest, without the stares of others to deter me.

I’m pretty sure I cried enough to cover every event in the past I missed out on. And I know I’m covered for the rest of the school year, if not next year, too. Who knows, I might have unleashed something inside. I’ll get back to you on that. Stone has a pre-K graduation coming up.