Once A Crybaby, Always A Crybaby

I am a person who can be flexible and go with the flow. I just need about five minutes to recalculate my mental map, then I'm good.

Consider my brain to be similar to a GPS system. Hit the Recalculate Map button, watch the progress bar and percentages change until the new information is up on the screen. That is how my brain works.

The past few days, I have been asked to recalculate my mental map. Way too many times. We are getting closer to the end of the school year, and I am becoming responsible for things beyond my control. I do not handle inefficiency well. If I have done my part, I expect you to have done yours.

This morning, I dropped off the kids and had to shove LittleBird into her classroom. Outside in the hallway, I was negotiating the surreptitious transfer of funds for end-of-the-year gift cards for the teachers. There has been confusion over responsibility for the school carnival this weekend, and it has fallen to me to explain to parents what the hell the problem is.

With a sigh of relief I turned to walk out of the school to go to my long-awaited coffee date with a friend I have not seen in months. When the co-op coordinator stopped me. Today was my co-op day. Mother of God.

I have so few social engagements. I could have co-oped on any day but today. My face got hot. My eyes started to burn.

Yes. Bitchy NATUI in all her snarky armor fucking started crying right there in the lobby of the school.

I have always been a crier, and I have worked my ass off trying to overcome this aspect of my personality. I cry when I am happy. Sad. Stressed. You name it. Waterworks central.

And I hate it. HATE. IT. It makes me feel weak. It undermines my sense of authority. It makes others uncomfortable, and I absolutely hate it.

My co-op lady was so wonderful, and we worked out a day for me to come in. Despite the quick fix, I still couldn't quite stop the tears. I made it out to the main lobby, where several of the other moms I know saw me. They, in turn, became concerned. Which was embarrassing. Very much appreciated, but embarrassing all the same. I just needed that five minutes in private to get my shit together, but I was in a very public place with nowhere to go. There is nothing I hate more than falling into the Weepy Woman stereotype.

I'm due to pick up the children shortly, and I will have to face all of these parents and staff again. I am sure it will be fine, but I feel I am the Crybaby Mom. What 35-year old cries over a scheduling mixup? Apparently, me.