I did it again today. #momfail. Forgot to check the school calendar to notice the kids didn’t have school today. Yet, I hustled them out the door with a hastily counted 100 day collection of buttons from the jar, bellies filled with mandatory breakfast, and reminders to please stay for reading club. Dropping my four year old foster daughter off at care for the day I get the overdue notification that drops like a rock.
“Mom, the bike racks are empty.”
I’m due at work in 30 minutes, a 20 minute commute, and two kids who now have nowhere to be for the day. I thought the scrambled 100th day of school collection was my mom fail of the day. Ha. This is now it. #momfail
I’ve always been prone. Often been guilty. Locking the keys in the car. Locking myself out of the apartment while the toddler was napping inside it. Locking the keys and the baby in the car while it was running. All fine moments in my parenting career, but hardly the pinnacle. I’m reaching new heights all the time. I’ve seen some mothers recklessly tossing around the term to describe baked goods that didn’t rise. Entry level, folks. These greenies are hardly reaching their potential. There’s so much more to come. Forget to feed the kids, instead of forgetting the baking powder and then we can talk.
I’m not a bad mother, nope not at all, but sometimes there are a lot of plates to spin. Some have been handed to me. Some others I’ve freely selected for myself. Big and little, fanciful and hefty. I have quite a collection. I’m willing to stretch, to contort myself to try and keep them all going. Dropping them occasionally doesn’t mean I can’t balance: it’s evidence I’m still learning. Realizing that maybe I need a little more practice and preparation to keep my act together. Or maybe if I can’t manage it comfortably after all, to scale the show back.
So what if my kids see me falter? They sure aren’t seeing me fail. I can’t be deemed a failure when I’m not failing in the long term. I’m still getting up and going. Maybe I forget a few things, but I’m not finished off.
My kids won’t recall all the days I remember it all, hot breakfast, homemade lunches, and helping in their classrooms. They will remember these chaotic moments and how we dealt with them as they inevitably come; how we laughed and picked up the dropped plates together.
That’s just the season I’m in. It’s busy, it’s chaotic, and it’s really wonderful.*
*At least that’s what the notary public who visited my house last week told me. Walking out the door with my 30 year commitment in her hand, she wistfully smiled at my life, my fails and wins, and plate collection display that reminded her what she once had, and begged, enjoy it.
Go ahead and share your best attempts that fell flat. Make me laugh, that’s the best remedy for this “seasonal” syndrome.