Dear Theme Day,
You’re quite the unexpected visitor, aren’t you? Time and again, you sneak into my life, often heralded by a crumpled note tucked into my child’s folder, wedged between the latest book order and the sign-up sheet for the PTO event.
- “Get ready for Hawaiian Beach Day this Wednesday!”
- “Thursday is Dress Like Your Favorite Literary Character Day!”
- “Next Monday is Pajama Day!”
- “Friday, we want a Hat, Sunglasses, and a Random Article of Clothing in a Color That’s Probably Not in Your Child’s Wardrobe Day!”
I see those reminders and I genuinely want to embrace you. I tell myself, “I should definitely find a pair of sunglasses, even if it’s snowing outside. I ought to mark my calendar for this character day because a costume won’t magically appear overnight. I must ensure that my child’s single pair of pajamas that doesn’t look like it survived a rodent attack is clean.”
But the reality is, I juggle work, family, friends, and a life that doesn’t revolve around your whimsical demands, Theme Day. The truth is, I’m just not that into you.
Then, just when I believe I’ve successfully forgotten about you, feeling proud that my kids are up, having breakfast, and ready for the bus, my child glances up and asks, “What should I wear for character day, Mom? It needs to connect to a book we’re reading.”
And there you are, cackling in my kitchen. My partner suggests, “Why not just throw on a T-shirt with a character on it?” But I’m already diving into boxes in the basement, sweating bullets, while my child frets over the costume being “totally lame.” I say, “No, no! It’s going to be unique! It’s going to be creative!” Before I know it, I’m crafting eyeholes in a bandana to make a mask, frantically safety-pinning felt together, and searching for anything that could pass as a cape (sure, this sequined shawl will do). My child and I are both on the verge of tears, grasping at straws.
“Mom, what about gloves? Or this stuffed snake around my neck?”
“Yes!” I exclaim. “Perfect!”
But we both know it’s not perfect. You and I understand that the costume’s flaws reflect on my abilities as a parent, and that in turn, shapes how I view myself as a person. We haven’t moved much past those old-fashioned ideals, have we? You take pleasure in showcasing my struggles, don’t you, you relentless tormentor?
When we spent a year abroad, I thought I had outrun you, but you tracked us down to a small school in the far north of Europe for “Dress Up as a Favorite Fairy Tale Character Day.” Seriously, Theme Day? Couldn’t you grant us a single year of peace?
And yes, I know the kids adore you. My child eagerly anticipates your arrival. You add excitement to the school day, breaking up the monotony of worksheets and testing. Perhaps if the education system allowed for more creativity and less rigidity, we wouldn’t need you so much.
Yet, despite my disdain, I still find myself scrambling to accommodate you, even if it’s just minutes before the bus arrives. Somehow, I manage to send my costumed child off to school, happy with their mismatched, hastily assembled superhero outfit, ready to show it off to friends, eyeholes in the mask lopsided and all.
In that moment, I’m expected to look into those bright, appreciative eyes and declare that it’s all worthwhile, that I’ll honor you next time with the respect you supposedly deserve.
But instead, I’ll speak for all the overwhelmed parents out there: Go ahead and take a hike, Theme Day. Just… go away.
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In summary, Theme Days may offer a break from the routine, yet they also bring their own set of challenges for parents trying to keep up with their demands.