Forgetful
Often in the morning after everyone is gone, my phone rings. I know it's Grace, she's the only person who routinly calls me before 9 AM. She's usually upset over some forgotten thing, which I then go hunt down and take up to the school.
Some mornings it is actually quite annoying, but I go, of course, because that's what mothers do. They pull a hat on over their unkempt hair (those office ladies must think I never shower) and trudge out into the snow to relieve the worry of their children.
On my way to the school this morning to deliver the forgotten reading calendar, I was thinking of all the things I forget. Then I remembered a day a few years ago, when Grace was in kindergarten. As I dropped her off that day, I noticed that lots of kids seemed to be really dressed up. Strange, I mused. She bounced off to her class, as she was a happy, bouncy kindergartner.
I got home and came in the house, still musing over all the frilly dresses and super done up hair at school that day. And then I realized. IT'S PICTURE DAY!!
I had not dressed Grace up. She was wearing a normal outfit of jeans and a white sweater. Her normal hair was held back with a normal clip. I was mortified - her picture was going to be so normal. I flew back over to the school to take her the picture money. I remember I had a hairbrush with me, but I ended up not even using it. They were on their way down to take pictures, so there was no time to placate myself.
"Smile pretty," I called as my normal child bounced down the hall toward what would become photographic evidence of my awesomeness, or total lack thereof.
I remember being hard on myself that day. I had forgotten picture day. What mother forgets picture day? A bad one, I thought.
Then a few weeks later the envelope containing previously mentioned evidence arrived. I peeked inside and saw...
Some mornings it is actually quite annoying, but I go, of course, because that's what mothers do. They pull a hat on over their unkempt hair (those office ladies must think I never shower) and trudge out into the snow to relieve the worry of their children.
On my way to the school this morning to deliver the forgotten reading calendar, I was thinking of all the things I forget. Then I remembered a day a few years ago, when Grace was in kindergarten. As I dropped her off that day, I noticed that lots of kids seemed to be really dressed up. Strange, I mused. She bounced off to her class, as she was a happy, bouncy kindergartner.
I got home and came in the house, still musing over all the frilly dresses and super done up hair at school that day. And then I realized. IT'S PICTURE DAY!!
I had not dressed Grace up. She was wearing a normal outfit of jeans and a white sweater. Her normal hair was held back with a normal clip. I was mortified - her picture was going to be so normal. I flew back over to the school to take her the picture money. I remember I had a hairbrush with me, but I ended up not even using it. They were on their way down to take pictures, so there was no time to placate myself.
"Smile pretty," I called as my normal child bounced down the hall toward what would become photographic evidence of my awesomeness, or total lack thereof.
I remember being hard on myself that day. I had forgotten picture day. What mother forgets picture day? A bad one, I thought.
Then a few weeks later the envelope containing previously mentioned evidence arrived. I peeked inside and saw...
She was darling! Happy, with that sweet little crooked smile. It looked exactly every other day, which meant I got a picture that captured my happy, bouncy kindergartner.
I'm glad that happened so early in my career as a grammar school parent. I got a good clear vision, early on, of what picture day is for. I have a very relaxed attitude regarding school pictures. I'm not interested in seeing a fluffed and frilly version of my girl. I want to remember the first grader, the second grader, the third grader that I sent bounding out of the house everyday.
The whole experience just relaxed me a little and put 'failure' into perspective. Forgetting is not failure. It's just forgetting. Sometimes it will be a big deal and sometimes it won't. And sometimes it will unexpectedly reveal a hidden, smiling gem.
This morning, on my way home from dropping off the forgotten reading calendar, I mulled this over. It's not really so annoying to run over to the school in the morning. So if she occasionally forgets things and I can help her, well then...I have, after all, learned some important lessons by being forgetful.
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