Way, way, way long ago, all the way back in November, I mentioned helping do a major project for the kids' school. [If you're truly bored, you can read about it here. The project itself, though, isn't material to this post, so save yourself some time and skip the past post. Or read it. Either way, I'll be here.]
I worked a lot, a lot, a lot of hours on the application for a Distinguished School Award. The principal and I, dude, we bonded. [Hell, I've already let her hug me like three times over this, and I am so not a hugger, as some of you may know. Or as some of you may have figured out. Or as some of you have just found out by reading this parenthetical aside.]
The application was filed in the beginning of December. We were first rejected. Rejected. Frickin' hell, it was like not getting into the college of your choice. Burned my ass 'cause I do not take losing well at all. So, against the odds, we filed an appeal. We worked our butts off in the all-of-24-hours they gave us to do the appeal. I had a suggestion about how to manage the appeal. ["Brilliant," if I do say so myself.] We played the two readers against each other. And we won.
We "won" as in there's a site visit today with a bunch of self-satisfied critics who shall determine if we are, in fact, worthy of the honor. Everywhere, the school is being tidied and decorated and straightened and cleaned. By other mothers, not me. Why not me? Because I've been working with the principal on readying all of the materials these people could ever want to see. We were holed up in her office all day yesterday, and I was doing various things on the side over the last week.
Is there a point? What, exactly, is my walk-away with all this? I mean, besides learning to accept losing gracefully. I'm tired. It's exhausting trying to achieve perfection.