Glitter Mom.
When I was in elementary school I had a friend whose mother was that classic “room mom”. You know the one - she decorates valentines with extra glitter and wraps treats in matching cellophane. In my version, her daughter had intricate Halloween costumes, notes in her lunch box, and the BEST birthday parties. I can picture one year when they had a craft station complete with paint and themed patches so we could each decorate a souvenir shirt. Boy did I envy that girl! Back then my family was only six years post-migration and one year post-divorce. We were, shall we say, in the thick of it. That year my Halloween costume consisted of a leotard from my dance recital and a flimsy plastic mask. The only glitter was the clumpy kind crackling and peeling off the mask. Don’t get me wrong, I know there is plenty of privilege in having dance recital costumes, but I desperately wanted a Halloween costume. More than that, I wanted parents who could dedicate time to helping me find a Halloween costume.
I knew my parents had it “up to here'' just trying to give me a “normal” middle class American life. I knew better than to bother them with trivialities. Every ask to “sign here” and “do that”, was met with an exasperated sigh. “But Mama, everyone’s parents are supposed to do something.” [INSERT EXASPERATED SIGH]. And this is how my deeply exhausted mother wound up scoring fourth-grade spelling tests. The heaviness of her effort weighed on me. My mom had no glitter, so I added stickers and stamps to the A+ tests. I knew I was well loved, but I ached for glitter.
Right then and there, I promised myself that someday I would be a glitter mom. My kids would have whimsical birthday parties where every corner had carefully arranged decorations selected just for the occasion. My kids would get notes in their lunch boxes with hand-drawn pictures and encouraging messages. My kids would feel special because I would have the time and energy to make them feel special.
Fast forward 30 years, and I am definitely that mom. Every year my daughters pick a theme for their birthday parties. When my preschooler chose a snake theme we had safari tableware, DIY snakes-in-dirt (i.e. gummy worms-in-pudding) dessert, and snake bracelets in the goodie bags. When my youngest turned one, I spent eight hours making and decorating a cake with ombre blue icing and fondant balloons to match the hot air balloon theme of her nursery. Sidenote - until I started this site, I had been ENTIRELY off social media since becoming a parent in 2016. So the only people seeing any of my DIY creations were close friends and family. Sure, there’s still a performative aspect to hosting a perfectly themed party, but in truth I’m trying to give my girls the glitter I didn’t have. I’m trying so hard in fact, that they’re still getting the exasperated sighs.
Giving my daughters a middle class American life isn’t nearly as hard for me as it was for my mom. I know what they’re expected to bring for lunch. I know how to make a VIP poster (i.e. using posterboard, not literal cardboard), and how to advocate when they’re not being challenged at school. That stuff is certainly tiring, but it's not altogether exhausting. Then there’s the glitter. Sometimes the glitter is literally glitter on a valentine. And sometimes it’s that internal pressure to make the perfect lunch - the kind with enough pre-packaged food to be yummy, but not so much that it raises eyebrows. The glitter is exhausting.
After the marathon cake-making episode, my husband pointed out that the girls might prefer a more present and energized mom over the glitter. It would be easy to conclude that he’s right. Afterall, I don’t want my exhaustion to weigh on my children. But little-me also craved the magic of a perfectly planned costume, and the joy of finding a note in my lunchbox. Maybe the best way forward is somewhere in between. I will not be making another fondant cake anytime soon. Fondant looks great, but tastes awful. On the other hand, I’d definitely turn our house into a jungle again if it fit the desired theme. The wide eyed “WOAH” I heard when she saw her decorations last year was totally worth it.
