This is my sixth year as a mom with kids in elementary school, and I’ve finally mastered Back to School Night.

Step One: Leave the kids and husband at home. (Nathan is a very involved dad but back when Pippa started preschool, we decided Back to School Night does not warrant the hassle of a babysitter. I attend and report back. He feeds the kids’ dinner and pretends to pay attention when I tell him about the curriculum.)

Step Two: Ditch the opening speeches in the auditorium. I attended this the first couple of years and was amazed by how few parents showed up for this segment of Back to School Night. Now I know why. Our auditorium does not have air conditioning, turning it into a sauna in August (no thanks). The principal gives a canned speech about how its going to be an amazing year and please make sure your kids come to school. The PTA President begs parents to volunteer for shit. The Fundraising Parents-in-Chief implore us to donate money. I don’t need to give up a half hour of my life to hear this spiel again.

Step Three: Attend the session with Pippa’s fifth grade teacher and listen to his spiel, nod occasionally, and sneak a peek inside Pippa’s desk. DO NOT ASK THE TEACHER HOW I CAN VOLUNTEER IN THE CLASSROOM.

Step Four: Attend the session with Julian’s second grade teacher and flip through the curriculum packet. Exchange a few jokes with teacher because he already taught Pippa (first and second grade) and we survived distance learning together, so this year is going to be a dream. Look through Julian’s writing journal and marvel at how well he is doing, considering how this time last year, he couldn’t read. DO NOT ASK THE TEACHER HOW I CAN VOLUNTEER IN THE CLASSROOM. Instead, ask if he wants some soccer balls that I have from last year’s misguided AYSO coaching ordeal.

Step Five: When the principal comes on the intercom and announces that Back to School Night is over, get up and leave. Do not engage second grade teacher in unnecessary small talk. He wants to go home. I want to go home. Everyone gets to go home.

Step Six: Eat husband’s leftover buffalo dip while standing up at the kitchen island, like an animal, because it is delicious and you are hungry.

Step Seven: Leave handouts in purse, where they can languish for several weeks, until I rediscover them, crumpled and alarmingly sticky, with at least one raisin stuck to their pages.

The End.

p.s. Next year, Pippa starts middle school, so I’m sure I’ll go back to nerd mode and attend ALL OF THE PRESENTATIONS but this year, I reveled in the glory of being a laidback mom at Back to School Night.