Blame the summer planning madness, the end-of-school-year rush, the snack schedule overload, the dresser I’m refurbishing, kindergarten graduation, or the circus strongman costume I need to somehow devise. Or maybe blame my bank for notifying me of a new $15 monthly fee they’re about to start assessing, kindergarten registration, Fiesta Day festivities, the mound of laundry in my basket, Nicholas’s upcoming First Communion, or Bikram yoga. I suspect all are partly responsible for my recent scatter-brain that lead to the giant mistake that happened last weekend. Up until then, during my time as a Mom, I had always managed to keep everything neatly together. I considered myself a bona fide Supermom, if you will, able to balance all of my responsibilities equally, not dropping the ball at any time. Though there had been some close calls, I always managed to swoop in at the last second to save the day. Providing snacks for the class or team when it was my turn, attending all the important school assemblies, coolly shuffling each child to soccer practices, karate classes, CCE, swim meets, and hockey games even when some were damn near back to back and clear across town from one another–all was just a regular day in the life of this Supermom. Until I screwed it all up on Sunday, relinquishing my title and being banished back to the regular human world.
Nicholas’s hockey game was on Saturday, April 28, at 4:15, but I somehow believed it was on Sunday, April 28, at 4:15. I marked my big fat wall calendar for the game on Sunday, April 29 at 4:15, but for some reason believed it was on my made up day of Sunday, the 28th. We took him to his soccer game on Saturday, ate some good Mexican food afterwards, and relaxed at home the rest of the day. When we arrived at the rink on Sunday, I noticed his team was missing and free skate was going on, too. A knot grew in my stomach as I figured out my mistake; I double checked the online schedule. The 28th was Saturday, NOT Sunday! I was stunned that I had gotten the dates mixed up and felt terrible, only to feel much worse when I told N the bad news. He started to cry and turned away to face the corner. I knelt down and gave him a hug, apologizing over and over for my mistake and assuring him I would let his coaches know what happened and that it was all my fault.
For anyone who has ever been solely responsible for his child’s tears, you can understand how I felt. These weren’t the usual tears that follow a reprimand for playing too rough with his brother or talking back to me, these were the sweet tears of disappointment and true sadness. It was heart-breaking in a way I hadn’t ever experienced.
After a family dinner out and an evening in, I awoke the next day with a fresh perspective on the previous days events. Gone was the heartbreak, though I still felt guilty, but I was able to see that in the grand scheme of things it really wasn’t that big a deal. He will have tons of games throughout his life, some of which he’ll remember, but most of them I bet he won’t. I am hoping this is one of those games that gets lost in his memory. He probably will, however, remember the time he watched his mom climb a huge tractor tire very clumsily, after a long walk in the woods together, for the chance to capture a loving memory with him. At least I’m hoping, anyway.