Back in the day, I went to Kindergarten on Mondays, Wednesdays and every other Friday. Mondays and Wednesdays were not an issue. That darn “every other Friday” thing got confusing with holidays, snow days and other general scheduling mayhem. My Mom did the best she could do, but on one fateful Friday morning, she sent me on the bus to my school on the wrong Friday.
I didn’t notice that there were different kids on my bus as only one girl in my class rode my bus and she didn’t always ride in the morning. I went bopping into my classroom and stopped short when I realized that I didn’t recognize one single kid in the room. Panic set in, tears started flowing and my teacher walked me to the office. I sat in the lobby and waited for my equally panicked Mom to pick me up. Not-quite-six-year-old me was traumatized for life. In fact, any time I wanted to stick it to my Mom, I reminded her of how she sent me to school on the wrong day.
Because what kind of parent does that, right?
Parenting karma sucks.
March has been difficult schedule wise. FireDad has been working extra overtime. I’ve been busy with some projects and deadlines. And since we’re busy, it figures that the school schedule would have extra stuff in it this month. Extra stuff never seems to happen in one of those easy, lazy months (though, it’s been awhile since we’ve had one of those…).
Case in point: I forgot preschool picture day a few weeks ago. And I was devastated.
A few (kind! beloved!) friends on twitter tried to tell me it was no big deal, but let’s remember one important point: I’m a photographer. Photos are kind of important to me, even if I don’t take them. And while I could easily take a great picture of my boys and claim it as a school picture, I’m mostly concerned with the class picture. Now my kids will look like the kids whose Mom forgot it was picture day. Because I did.
After an emotional collapse on my husband, I decided to get over it though. Yes, I’m a photographer. No, it’s not the end of the world. And if my kids someday look at the class picture and question why they’re wearing what they’re wearing, I’ll just blame them. (No? Okay, okay. I’ll blame their Dad.)
Which brings us to today…
Today I helped BigBrother get dressed for “Wacky Day” at school. He reminded us that it was Wacky Day, which made sense to me at the time as we love Wacky Wednesday by Dr. Seuss. I started to second guess myself — and I couldn’t find the school calendar — so I called the preschool this morning and asked the younger kids’ teacher if it was Wacky Day for the big kids’ class. She said yes. So, BigBrother went to school looking like this:
She was wrong.
I realized the error as one of the teachers came out for drop off carrying a sign that read, “Wacky Day! Friday!” I may have cussed under my breath before I turned to face BigBrother.
“It’s not Wacky Day.”
Panic crossed his little face. “Oh no!”
He ripped off his Shrek ears and Waldo glasses as I attempted to pull his soccer socks down off of his pant legs and fold them over like regular socks. I was thankful — oh so thankful — that he had outgrown his sandals, as I had been planning on having him wear one sneaker and one sandal. At least he was wearing matching shoes. As one of the big kids’ class teachers opened our car door, I sucked up all of my pride.
“Mrs. Teacher, can you help BigBrother turn his shirt the right way. I thought it was Wacky Day today.”
“I know. Now.”
When I picked the boys up, BigBrother’s sweater was on right-side out. He didn’t seem to be traumatized, which is good. On Friday, we’ll gather up the Shrek ears and the Waldo glasses and a different sweater and pair of pants and we’ll do it all over again.
But FireDad is taking them to school on Friday. I need a break. I’ll probably call my Mom on Friday morning and apologize for all those years of chastising her for one messed up morning. I can’t even count my messed up mornings anymore and my kids aren’t even officially in elementary school.