Damn Publishing parties.

It’s a very well known fact that I might be one of the worst parents in the classroom (in each and all of my kids (3) classrooms, In this case Juliana’s).

I am the mother that always forgets things, I am the mother who’s last to give money for teacher’s presents or any type of contributions, I am also the mother that always comes tray-less to the kids/parents gatherings.

And I really don’t want to be that mother, it’s really not an act of rebellion, it’s simply who I am.

I am that mother.

My daughter forgives me, I think.

The other parent’s not so much.

Every publishing party it’s the same thing.

I am a bit embarrassed.

For those who don’t know what a publishing party is, it is that occasion in which the teacher invites the parents to feel even worst than they usually do (in some cases – to make them feel better - I imagine).

It is that occasion in which all of our fears of not being parent to the next Virginia Wolf come to life. It’s the one moment when we are face to face with the fact that we haven’t done our share of homework with our kids. It is also the moment when we realize that the competitiveness in this town might not be the right fit for us - or our child.

It is indeed, a day from hell.

I get my coffee and brace myself for what’s coming. Stand outside the classroom and talk the smallest of talks with the other parents. The door opens and our kid waits at a table along with 3 of his/her classmates. Parents gather around each table and we all listen to each kid read their story. Then we all do silent clapping when they're done (Hate the concept of silent clapping).

While each of these kids are reading, my mind starts to wonder as I gaze at their perfect handwriting and punctuation, their flawless cover and perfectly thought out sentences.
I start going crazy in my mind thinking "Oh my God is everyone better than us?" I am not proud of this moment but I can't help it.
The work of this specific occasion is Realistic fiction.

And my daughter went all the way… She wrote a story based on her biggest fear: losing her Mom in a public space.

She goes crazy in stores if I move one inch (really, one inch) away from her, and this drives me insane.

So add to the list, a publishing party is also a day when you face the fact that your daughter may end in adult therapy, overcoming her mother’s shortcomings.

Thanks life.

Thanks Teacher.

At the publishing party all the parents say – only - amazing things about the kids’ work.

As every mothering textbook tell us.

And this I do - of course - but this also, I have a problem with.

I mean, shouldn’t we tell our kids to try harder or improve portions or even try and consider other options? After all isn’t this a publishing party?

No one will get published I tell you that.

But we do as we know we have to.

We tell them they’re amazing writers.

School kills me.

It killed me when I was growing up and it might kill my daughter too.

Expectations are too high and greatness isn’t very easy to achieve.

Juliana is the best in the world to me - but she’s not the best in school - not at all.

The question is,

Why does it get me?

Why does it affect me?

Why am I so fucking insecure when it comes to my daughter’s school’s work?

Not to mention unfair. After all I did suck in school.

But I also ask myself,

Will it make a difference in her life?

My Mom always tells me.

“Oh come on Sofia look at you. You did well for yourself in life and you were a mess in school.”

And my question to my Mom is,

“Did I? Did I do well for myself in life?

Dude I don’t know.

In any case,

Juliana’s story happens in Coney Island, the cover has a rainbow so the whole table was expecting another sunny and fun day at the fair. But no, the story narrates how Juliana loses her Mom. In the end the resolution being that she finds me.

She has a big fear of losing her Mom.

And she went and wrote about it.

Put it down in paper.

And here I am too.

Talking about my own ridiculous fears.

Isn’t life fucking ironic?

I love my girl to death.

Even if I don’t bring bagels to the publishing party or pretend like everyone’s work belongs in Barnes & Noble.

And I love that she didn’t come up with an amazing happy story.

She just wrote whatever she felt real.

She’s that girl.

Like her mother.

Only she’s 8.

Way smarter than I... way way smarter.