The trendy other things.

When Ella began this year at her new school, I decided to become more hands-on with the functions of the place that provides her with a formal education. Truthfully, before she started second grade, I scoffed at that Parent-Teacher Organization stuff. I never saw myself as the kind of mama who would be comfortable working side by side with the mommies who play tennis and lunch and organize cake walks. I mean, let's be honest here: I don't have the patience to keep my nails beautifully manicured. I don't make it to the salon as often as necessary to prevent my roots from showing (though, based on the ridiculously rude and intrusive gray hairs that I can't seem to fend off with intensive plucking, I'll be visiting said salons more often). I CANNOT accessorize worth a damn; if it's not black and denim or worn to the gym, I'm probably not gonna wear it. And let's not even mention jewelry...I stick to what I know: diamonds. (They are some of my best friends...except those blood ones, of course.) Even more, I sometimes, okay, oftentimes find myself without a filter, and tend to say what is on my mind, regardless of how NOT politically correct it may be. It's something I'm working on, so don't be hater.

However, this year I signed up for nearly every committee under the PTO or PTA, whatever. My first assignment has been to work with the beautification committee, which I rather enjoy. I can wear my workout uniform (again all black) and get dirt under my fingernails. I like that. Also, my hair can be a total hot mess, which suits my style best. I'm gearing up to help particpate in the American Education Week, which I have no idea about at all, and I spoke with Ella's room mom about the Economics week which leads up to Christmas. (Ummm.. What? First of all: Economics Week? Sorry, but that sounds like a total snooze fest for me; I can't imagine what it would do to second graders. And second of all: Economics week right before Christmas...a time when people lose all sensibility about fiscal responsibility and protecting themselves from over indulgence. Can anyone say ironic?)

This week, I've been working with the Book Fair. As a lover of all things literary, I thought that this would be a right on thing to do; being planted in the library is like being folded into heaven. I L.O.V.E. books. I love the way they smell. I love the feel of the pages between my fingers. I love how a book looks when it's brand new to my eyes, and I love even more how it looks when I'm done with it, and it's become a part of me and I've become a part of it. I love folding the corners of pages back to mark my place and taking notes in the margins. I am in love with reading to my children, and organizing their personal libraries at home. Books are my thang. They're some of my best friends, even more so than the diamonds. (This does not mean, Matt, that you should buy me books for Christmas. Just a little FYI.)

So, I've enjoyed doing the Book Fair gig. It's cool to see the kids perusing through the books and making individual selections. A lot of them are excited to get home and get down to the business of reading their new treasures. With that said, perhaps some of the most coveted items are the chocolate erasers, the cell phone erasers, the noodle pencils, and these creepy Halloween hands. They all love bringing in their envelopes and pockets full of cash and making their purchases, and some of these kids have a lot of stinking money. A good many of them come in with 20 or 30 bucks from their parents, buy an eraser and a $2 book and call it a day, and as they peace out of the library, you can almost see the Icees that they'll be able to buy for the next month dancing over their heads.

It's been interesting for me, too, to get a chance to kick it old school, okay not really, with some of the other volunteering mothers. It's not exactly as I expected; they all seem very friendly and, for the most part, down to earth. Of course, everyone is happy to be there, so most everyone is in a jovial mood. I've also learned that I have more of a filter than I give myself credit for. Who'd a thunk that I can be just as polite as the next mom? (Not my mother, I can tell you that right now.) To be sure, I've become schooled in the art of PTA/O mothering. First, they all look amazingly young. Amazingly. And, they all can accessorize with the best of the Real Housewives of which ever city you can imagine. To that end, I've learned that in order to conduct myself in the realm of this particular existence I'm gonna need to: A. Get a stylist and B. start making some regular trips to the salon.

Oh, how times have changed. Gone are the grunge days of my early college years. Gone are the crusty camping gear days of my twenties. (I don't know where I've been for these past few years. I suppose I've been in a holding pattern.) Here to stay are the days of patterned shirts and trendy other things, and I have no idea what those other things are. Holy smokes. I better figure out what those other things are.