I see you, school mom. I see you hiding down there at the end of a long row of princess and ninja backpacks, frantically brushing your daughter’s hair before the playground whistle blows and the day begins. I laugh to myself because I just did the same thing outside my minivan a few minutes ago. I’ve learned the secret hack of keeping an extra brush in the console. Although we’ve learned how to be on time to school, we haven’t learned to finish our morning grooming routine before we rush out of the house. I have been known to arrive at work with a bright pink clip snapped to the front of my blouse — a remnant of the mad morning dash. And speaking of work, I see you, mama, hustling across the lawn in your blazer. You hurry by with a drop of sweat forming on your brow — conquering your son’s 8:00 am drop off before you conquer a day at your company. And I see you, too, mother in yoga pants. Perhaps this new school schedule allows you to start exercising again for the first time in weeks, months, years. I am celebrating your newfound freedom with you. I see you over there, mama, wiping away your child’s tear-filled eyes, as she faces that classroom door with a look of trepidation. You stoop to comfort her, while you silently yearn for the day she will run into the schoolyard without fear. As I glance at you sympathetically, I am jolted by the sound of my own child crying. I turn to see her flat on her face, a misstep as she sprinted to the playground. A big hug and a kiss on both knees seems to be the remedy. All the moms trek back to the parking lot together, wondering if tomorrow’s drop-off will be the first without tears. I see you, mama, pushing your stroller across the wet lawn — a drowsy toddler and a sleeping baby tucked inside. School drop-off is a full family affair and just seeing you gives me solace. I had three babies in three and a half years, and sometimes that feels isolating. In a world of two-kid families, I smile gratefully at the sight of other moms who have also defied the national average of children per household. I feel a sense of camaraderie as we walk past each other, exchanging a knowing smile and a gentle “hello.” I see you, mom and dad, walking together hand in hand as your five-year-old skips ahead. I am genuinely happy for whatever flexible situation you have that allows you to tag-team this drop-off gig. I see you, single mama. I can only imagine how hard it must be to do this every day on your own with no one for back-up, even on the days you are sick or dealing with car troubles. I see you, grandma, doing drop-off for a second generation as you help your kids raise their own kids. You are the kind of mom I hope to be in 30 years. I see you principal, administrative assistant, and teachers. So many of you have already raised your own children, yet you show up each day to serve these little ones with such joy and patience. I see you mamas at pick-up too. Some of you still wearing your workout attire; some of you arriving straight from the office. Some of you chat in small groups; others stand alone. The one thing we all have in common is the way each child’s face lights up as they spot us waiting on the playground. Little boys lock eyes with their mom and sprint with glee. Little girls glimpse their mom and start jumping up and down in anticipation. Apparently, we are all in the running for mom-of-the-year, judging by the excitement expressed by our children at 2:00 pm. School pick-up reminds me that I am doing a good job after all, and clearly, you are doing a good job too. When I see other moms on the weekend, it sometimes looks like this motherhood gig is shiny — and maybe even easy. The kids run around at a soccer game or jump in the bounce house at a birthday party, and everyone is excited and relaxed and in a good mood. And the 10:00 am start time for church on Sunday allows the mamas to saunter in wearing make-up and pretty dresses, and we can pretend for a day that every morning is so peaceful and that we always look so fresh. But I have never felt the shared humanity of motherhood more than I have at 8 o’clock on a Tuesday morning. I see your muscles flex as you push a giant stroller across the muddy baseball field. I hear the click of your heels as you hustle your child along the sidewalk. I see the way some moms whisper words of encouragement into their child’s ear while other mothers watch their confident child sprint to the swings without so much as a goodbye. As we walk back to our cars, I look around and smile. Yoga pants or blazer, one child or three, minivan or SUV, we are all moms. Some days we are frantically brushing tangled hair before the bell rings and other days we walk in ten minutes early with the library book that’s due tucked neatly in the backpack. I’ve been there, and you’ve been here, and that’s why eight o’clock on a school day in my new favorite hour. I see you, school mom. You show me that road of motherhood is wide and filled with friendly faces. And that eager child that lights up when he spots you in the afternoon pick-up line… he sees you too, and judging by the grin on his face, you are his favorite sight all day. ... Read more
