Letter From the Editor: This is the greatest show

By Courtney Warren

It’s time to prep classrooms; and, if you’ve ever seen mine, you’ll know I take this very seriously. Two summers ago, I renovated my English classroom, and recently our incredible yearbook advisor passed the baton, so I have a second classroom.

The editors and I spent several weeks painting, organizing, cleaning and placing furniture. All of this was done with my blonde four-year-old in tow. 

The goal was teacher Instagram perfection. When I scroll through pictures, I see gorgeous rooms with equally gorgeous teachers. 

I’m always trying to channel my inner Pinterest girl and get similar looks with perfectly placed vases and pillows.

Then my child comes in with a sticky spoon and Nutella-covered hands and her bow is around her neck and where are her pants and why do you have the decor from the lobby in your unicorn purse?

I take her to my other classroom to turn on The Greatest Showman, the newest distraction, and as Barnum sings about coming to the other side because it’s the greatest ride, I’m wondering how I can get dried Nutella out of blonde curls without causing tears.

I’m the ringleader of my own circus now.

Every single day, I put my classroom back together, and then every night, I put each piece of my home back in place before throwing all of the clutter and crafts into a box, and then shove that box into a closet.

I fluff pillows and Clorox wipe counters. I pick up every single block from the floor, because perfect Pinterest moms do not have blocks on their floors.

I’ve completed all of my tasks and checked off my to-do list somewhere between midnight and 2 a.m., and, at this point, I’ve watched The Greatest Showman three more times.

Then, as I place my still dirty hair head on my should-be-ironed-pillow, my baby cries. I try to ignore it. I mute the monitor and watch the blinking lights go from green to red to green to red as her wailing crescendos into a sound that should be coming from one of P.T. Barnum’s circus animals rather than my tiny daughter. “Mooooooommaaaaa!”

I climb back out of bed, careful not to put anything out of place, go to her Pinterest-perfect room, where she has pushed the wall so hard, the bed is now several feet from its original spot, and her blanket is lying on the floor, discarded in a fit of rage from being left alone in her room. Did I mention the “scary monster sound” coming from the closet?

I take a deep breath and try to calm her.

Once I realize the only calming thing is my arms, I take her to my room, where she finds that perfect spot that a parent seems to develop after their child is born.

It’s that warm spot from your elbow to your shoulder, where babies just seem to fit perfectly and no harm can happen to anyone.

She’s snoring before I have an opportunity to give her back her blankie and push play on her movie.

In the morning, the alarm shouts way too early, and that little snorer is up and once again dancing to the musical talents of Zac Efron before I have a chance to take my first sip of coffee.
By the time I have shoes on, she has scattered more blocks, more dolls, several coat hangers, her Minnie Mouse vacuum, and someone’s fuzzy toothbrush, and she’s outside in her dad’s shirt digging in the yard for fairy treasure.

My house no longer looks like Pinterest, Instagram, or even a crumpled Wal-Mart ad in the trash bin. My house looks like the Warren Family lives here.
I got frustrated and slightly overwhelmed. I raised my voice when I probably should not have.

But as I put the blocks back into the tiny bin, rushing because I knew there were Sun Sands to be latched and a dog to be crated before I ran out the door, a little hand dropped a red block into the basket.

She then looked at me and exclaimed, “Good job, Mommy! You’re just the best.”

Then she clapped. For me.

My house may not always look like Pinterest and Instagram, and my follower count might have dropped by 150 people in the last month, but this morning I got applause from the smallest and most important fan I have.

So, if your house is covered in blocks, crayons, or even toilet paper because somehow she found that, too, just remember to take a bow in the middle of the circus. Because you’re the best ringleader they will ever see. And right now, this is the greatest show.