The Writing Mamas Daily Blog

Each day on the Writing Mamas Daily Blog, a different member will write about mothering.

If you're a mom then you've said these words, you've made these observations and you've lived these situations - 24/7.

And for that, you are a goddess.

Wednesday, October 31, 2007



In kindergarten my mom sewed me a crazy outfit, a combination of dots and florals, pastels and primaries, sheets and drapes. She patched me together as a billowy one-piece suit of sleeves and long skirt.

I was a clown—a clapping, jumping, spinning, laughing clown. But the best part was my mask. We bought it at the B&I all the way across town and no other kids had anything like it. My peach plastic face with red cheeks and bulbous nose beneath a waxy strand of curl in the middle of my forehead created a mask that people noticed.

On Halloween day I walked through the hallway to class with my peers (Batmans, Holly Hobbies, witches) and encountered the school principal. She honed in on me.

“My, aren’t you a funny little clown?” she exclaimed. “I can’t believe how cute you are…”

It was so nice to be explicitly noticed.

“Hi Miss Margrath,” I stuck my lips right up to the mouth hole, knowing that it might be the only way she’d hear me. I didn’t want my voice getting trapped inside the mask. “Hi Miss Margrath. Happy Halloween!” I pressed my smile against the plastic, hoping she’d spot it through the mouth hole.

“Well, hello little clown. We’re so happy to have you visiting today!” she crooned.

“Visiting? Today? What do you mean ‘visiting?’ I’m always here. I’m always here every day, Miss Margrath! I go to school here!” I squealed beneath my mask.

“Oh, no, I’d know you. I haven’t seen you before…”

I panicked. “No! No! Miss Margrath, it’s me, it’s me!” I tossed my lunch box to the ground, hoisted my mask above my face, elastic band still stuck under my ears. “It’s me, Miss Margrath—it’s me, Anjie Seewer! See, it’s me! You know me! See? You know me!” Mask less, wild, I looked up into her eyes, pleading.

“Well, Anjie. I should have known…” She bent over, touched my cheek and my forehead. “That is a marvelous costume. I almost didn’t recognize you.”

“You didn’t recognize me.”

“Right, right. Good thing you told me, I might never have figured it out.”

Never figured it out?

I spent the rest of the day lifting my mask for everyone. “Ha, ha, isn’t this funny? See? It’s me!” and “Wow, you probably couldn’t tell, but—surprise!” and, “Hey, look, it’s just me in here. It’s me, Anjie Seewer!”

By Anjie Seewer Reynolds


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