Any-Mom » The Field Trip

The Field Trip

10.13.2008 | Author: OrganizerMom | Posted in Loosening the Bonds

As a settled, confident, happy 41-year-old, I rarely cry. I get angry, I feel sad, I get depressed, I feel stressed and life gets me down, but I don’t often expel emotion by crying. That’s why I completely surprised myself by bursting into tears after dropping off my son at preschool on the day that he was to take his first field trip. The horror of the field trip had been growing since I found out about it the week before.

“He’s too young for a field trip!” I exclaimed to my husband.

“He’ll be fine,” my husband replied dismissively.

I raise my voice. “He only just turned 5!”

“He’ll be okay,” my husband said, giving me a sideways look like I’m a freak of nature.

“Whoever heard of field trips for preschoolers!?!” I declare, not ready to give up.

“What do you think is going to happen?” My husband asked.

Um…abuse, molestation, kidnapping, maybe even murder and dismemberment. I don’t say this out loud because to verbalize it means it could really happen. “He’s too young to go on a field trip.” I return to my original argument. (Did I mention some people think I’m stubborn?)

“He’s just going to a Pumpkin Patch. It’s only a few miles from school,” my husband said, in his calmest and most rational voice. “Nothing bad could happen to him there.” I detect a note of condescension. This annoys me. I pride myself on being RationalMom, who doesn’t freak out when her son splits his lip open on the sliding board or rush to his rescue if he skins a knee. But playground accidents are totally different because I’m there to assess the damage and act accordingly. A field trip on a school bus to a faraway farm and a crowd of kids with a small chaperone-student ratio is something else.

“Why don’t you just go with him?” My husband asks, reasonably. And there is another reason I am annoyed. I can’t go with him because I didn’t know that was an option. I didn’t see the sign-up sheet on the bulletin board until it was too late and all the chaperone spots were taken. I tell this to my husband. “You could just drive over there and meet them.” He smirks.

“I thought of that,” I say. “But that would make me DesperateMom and I don’t want to be DesperateMom.”

“You are DesperateMom.” He outright laughs at me now. I wrinkle up my face at him and sort of smile because I know I’m being ClingyMom, who is just a field trip or two away from being DesperateMom.

Fast forward to Field Trip Day. I see some other moms in the parking lot and ask them if they are okay with the whole field trip thing. “Oh sure,” says one. “They’ll be fine.” I look at her as if she has two heads and find another target. “Oh sure,” says this one. “They’ll have fun.” She busies herself pulling her kid’s sweater off and so misses the dagger look I send her.

I pull my son close and tell him to stay with the group and stay with the teacher. “Don’t go off by yourself,” I whisper. I know he won’t because he’s not a Runner like some other kids we know. He heads off into his classroom without a backwards glance and I make it to the car and out onto the main road before the whimpers and tears start. I cry all the way home but miraculously avoid collisions. I even call my husband at work while driving home and leave a sobbing message.

He doesn’t get back to me until his lunch hour by which time I have already called the school to determine that my son has returned safely. So I act breezy and confident on the phone and totally dismiss my morning neurosis. He hangs up uncertainly and I go to the calendar to circle the next day a field trip is scheduled. The bus leaves promptly at 9 and I intend to be on it.