The first time I read about the upcoming Mothers’ Tea at Kostyn’s preschool, I was a little apprehensive. Will I have to dress up? Will I have to talk to the other moms? I’m not especially good at either. I’m not even a big fan of tea. I quietly put it on our Google calendar and began to fret. Excited, of course, but oddly nervous.
Every week there it was on the weekend handout sent home in Kostyn’s bookbag. Finally, last week, I mentioned it to him.
“Do you know what’s happening next week at school?” I asked. “Mommy is coming to your class on Thursday for a special Mothers’ Tea.” His smile lit up my world, and I swear to you in that moment I would have guzzled homemade tea he’d brewed himself with muddy puddle water and clovers from the yard. I was On Board with the Mothers’ Tea. Stoked. Hell I would have worn a dress if someone told me I had to. (Thankfully, I didn’t.)
On my way to his school that afternoon I was thinking about how far we’ve come, Kostyn and I. He’s a full-fledged little boy now. Gone are the baby cheeks, the diapers, the toddler speech, even the tantrums (for the most part). When we dance it’s rarely with him in my arms. There is a lot less “Mommy, I want to hold you” (his way of saying “pick me up”) and a lot more “Mommy, watch this.” He’s a daydreamer and a bookworm and I swear some type of musical savant. At school he’s among the smallest but not the least bit shy (apparently the recipient of some recessive “extrovert” gene). My little K Man. Anyway, I’m not the type to pine for days gone by, but I knew this was one I’d want to freeze-frame.
When I arrived the moms were lined up in the hallway with a teacher calling each student individually to escort his or her mom to her seat. One by one they walked to the doorway and took their moms’ hands, practiced manners and proud smiles on every last kid.
“Kostyn,” said Mrs. Bratton when I hit the front of the line. He walked until he saw me, then ran and jumped into my arms. My. Heart. Exploded. We could have walked right out the door and I would have declared it the best Mothers’ Tea in the history of Mothers’ Teas.
But it got cuter.
He was supposed to lead me to my seat, but my little daydreamer had forgotten where he’d put his presents for me. We wandered from place to place until one of his teachers started checking the backs of the gifts, looking for his name. I should have known he’d have set his stuff down next to his buddy Mason U. (not to be mixed up with Mason G.), who I’m pretty sure he declares is his best friend because of Mason U.’s similar stature. I hunched down into the tiny chair, bumping knees and purses with other moms as our kids climbed into our laps.
Once we were all seated, Kostyn’s head teacher, who has the personality of a rock, opened with an exceptionally warm “The mothers can open their presents now.” That was it. So, we did.
Those teachers know exactly what they’re doing when they sit kids down and have them answer questions about Mommy in favorable ways. The whole room melted, people. I know parenting is about unconditional love and all, but there’s something about seeing your son answer the question “What makes your mom smile” with “showing her my face” that erases all those grocery store meltdowns in one fell swoop.
The tea turned out to be tea-less – there were pretzels and donut holes and lemonade – and the kids sat on the storytime carpet to give us moms a bit more room at the little tables. I had envisioned getting one-on-one time with my son, but instead I chatted with Mason U.’s mom, whose Mother’s Day paper listed her as being special because she makes great cookies (“My cookies are pretty good,” she said) and that he likes it when she takes Mason fishing, which she said she has never done.
I glanced back at what Kostyn had written about me. At first all his answers had seemed sort of sweetly generic, but when I thought about it from his perspective, mine changed. I thought about how when he was really little I’d sit by his bed at night and, when he’d ask for me to tell him a story in the dark, I’d tell him a tale I wrote as a kid, about a boy and a rainbow. He loved it, and he loves rainbows because of it. When we go somewhere that offers face painting, the other boys get Spider-Man and lightning bolts. Kostyn gets a rainbow.
Then I thought about how he’s always asking me “How tight can you hug me Mommy?” and I squeeeeeeeze really hard, but not really, until he’s satisfied.
And I thought about how often I grab him and hold his face in my hands and say “This face! I just love this face.” And how it’s just one of those “thinking out loud” moments but how he must hear me, and remember what my own face looks like when I’m saying it.
After the “tea” was finished, Kostyn insisted on carrying all my presents to the car despite my repeated protests. The nervousness I felt watching him balance my precious trivet under his arm all the way across the parking lot made me realize why my own mother has kept most every painted rock my sisters and I ever gave her.
We hit up Dairy Queen on the way home, and after deliberating over the menu for several minutes he chose a chocolate-vanilla twist cone with rainbow sprinkles. About five licks in, he dropped it. His face fell, shocked and sad, and I got a lot of mothering self-satisfaction out of fetching a new one for him. Knowing the day will come when I can’t solve his problems makes a dropped ice cream cone even more of a Mom Saves the Day no-brainer.
When we arrived home and I unbuckled his seatbelt, he jumped into my arms again. I pulled him tightly to me and thanked him for such a special day. “I really really really really love you,” he said, pulling back to look at me for a reaction. I beamed. He leaned in and whispered into my ear. “I really appreciate you.”
Best. Mothers’ Tea. Ever.
