Wearing The Sash Of Mommy-Guilt

If it wasn’t bad enough that I turned another year older this week, to add insult to injury I’ve been labeled Worst Mommy in Little Squirt’s classroom, I’m certain. I will wear the crown and sash with humility, because I surely deserve it.

I missed the Young Authors Party at his school today. I remember getting information about it, writing the date my calendar, and thinking at the end of last week, “Oh yes, next Thursday is my son’s Young Author’s Party. I will surely attend with pride, because I love my son and am a Concerned Parent Who Is Supportive Of My Child’s Education.” And that’s the last I remember of it. The whole thing completely slipped out of my mind and vanished, much like my tabby does to the backyard when we leave the sliding glass door open. Simply gone...

...until Little Squirt came home from school and dumped a bag of books out of his backpack. I gasped, my heart dropping to my stomach. “Your Authors Party! I missed it!!” I said horrified. “Yeah, you did. But that’s okay, because while the other children read their books to their parents, I read my books to the principal instead.”

Oh, dear God. Now, in addition to his teacher, I’m fearing that the principal of the school is passing judgment on me! I’m being labeled a Neglectful, Inattentive and Unconcerned Parent who let her little boy sit alone at the party like an orphan child. In reality, they are probably very nice women who are not judging me at all. But I’m judging me. How could I have forgotten a special day in his life like that??

I told Little Squirt that we would have a Young Author’s Party of our own. I made him a root beer float, and he read all his authored books to me. He, my sweet little grace-giver, completely forgave me. My child is amazing that way. Now I just have to forgive myself and move on. If this happened to a friend of mine, I would remind her of all the ways she is a wonderful mother, and tell her to let it go.

So maybe, Young, Energetic Teachers of America, a reminder of special events a few days before they occur would be helpful. Some of us are oldish Mommies in Mid-Life who are dropping estrogen at the same rate the windchill drops in January off Lake Michigan. We get forgetful. We need reminders. And sweet, grace-giving children who allay our guilt as they sip root beer floats.