So it’s the eve of Rockstar’s first Halloween party and my first shot as mum-who-gets-involved-in-her-child’s-school. I’m not sure the hat fits, I might be mum-hiding-with-tail-between-her-legs in another 28 hours when the party’s over, but I committed to it so… (If you find a deafening silence after this post there’s a good chance my first volunteer effort has ended disastrously!)
I wanted to write something else because I have several almost-Halloween posts already, but truth is, this is what’s pre-occupying my thoughts now.
(Btw, I turned Talent100 down for a spa ad because I was worried about being too inflexible for their client, who wanted me to be in a towel for a facial or something, and then I went for a casting call where I sang Faye Wong’s Zhi Mi Bu Hui with neither any practice nor any idea what I was singing, and then someone recently asked if I wanted to try out for a property ad.)
2 days ago, volunteer mums Pret-A-Manger-ed in International Finance Center. We looked right at home among the yuppies crowding grabbing the bottles of juice and sandwiches.
Except around our table were overstuffed plastic and paper bags filled with colored paper, broomsticks, an orange bucket with a jack-o-lantern face painted on, and a giant drawing of a pumpkin that one of the other mums managed to swing at the dining table while her 5 year old chattered away and entertained herself. (Is it genetically proven little girls sit still longer? I could NEVER have managed that unless Rockstar was completely unconscious.)
When this venue came up, I considered suggesting an alternative, but instead kept mum (sorry) and dressed for the occasion – heavily studded torn Unknown Factory jeans, bright green top bought from Factory Outlet Store in Penang, Marc Jacobs boots, at least 3 large turquoise-and-silver rings, one of which covers more than half my middle finger, and a deliberately sunny expression with hopefully nary a chip on my shoulder
“Yes,” I decided I would chirp. “I’m volunteering at my son’s school! We’re having a party!” Chirpie Chirpie Cheep Cheep. Then I lugged 30 drink boxes, cups wrapped in black paper, stickers, giant markers, thru where I used to speedwalk every day.
Past where I always rushed to the cab queue to get home to Rockstar after work or for lunch. So little time, so precious to me, that I got to see him – and now I spend so many many more hours with him. Thank you God!!!
15 floors up, that last dealing room I was in doesn’t even approve of stray personal trash bins (you have to dispose of stuff at the allocated steel bins with automatic open/close sensors) or you leaving your YSL Muse Bag in the aisle of your desk area (you have to stuff it in a drawer or hide it under your desk to keep the aisle area completely clear.) I think that’s because of a strict adherence to fire safety… Though ironically when alarms go off most people barely look up from the hundreds of computer screens, assuming it’s a fire drill…
I didn’t meet anyone I knew. No mean feat, because I used to work here up til about 7 months ago, as did many of my market counterparts, most of whom forgot I existed once I was no longer an institutional client to them. (Oh, get over yourself, Aileen. You were steeling yourself for the pang you thought you might feel from passing thru what had been a big part of your old life, except you were rushing so hard you felt nuthin’.)
I’m very late (but politely, not seriously, apologetic) because they had enthusiastically pushed the meeting up so they could spend more time, and I have the school run to do.
(Frankly some other mums gallantly delegated their school run to helpers, but I had told myself I would refuse give up on Rockstar time in the mornings or dropping him off at school before my few hours’ freedom because in the first place I’m volunteering at the school because of him – to facilitate him getting along better there, since he doesn’t make friends easily and is the youngest.)
Number of emails that have bounced around among mums since the Tuesday meeting: Approximately 36, not counting most of my own replies. Wowee.
Following our parent-teacher meetings, another organizing mum and I swapped notes, discovered our boys had both been pronounced “slow mixers” and decided to playdate to try and get our boys to bond…
They’re in different classes and <fingers crossed> we hoped if they liked each other they would each have someone to seek out during “free play” time when the children were encouraged to mix between classes and explore the sandpit and water areas – I’d been watching for traces of sand or water on Rockstar ever since another mum complained her son had come back with sand rubbed into his scalp, and his teacher confirmed Rockstar never ventured into those areas where more of the kids mix around.
See, Aileen? This is why you volunteered and will be steeling yourself to be around ~130 (and still growing) dressed up screaming kids bouncing ping pong eyeballs into the Spiderman plastic cups you covered with black paper leftover from your net-a-porter.com shopping. And you were delegated the reception table – you have a place for Rockstar to chill if he wigs out during Zombie Freezedance.
