I had a feeling today would be a bit rushed. We needed to drop off her Dad at the airport and return before 12:35. I managed to drop her off at 12:32, and felt a sense of accomplishment.
The next two hours were blissfully spent tidying up the house, puttering around, and, truth be told, relishing the quiet, occasionally interrupted by the gentle coos of Baby. Then, at 2:35, my phone rang. I didn’t recognize the number, so I let it go to voicemail. I enjoy the moment of letting my phone ring, especially since “Anastasia” by A Silent Film is my ringtone. I danced with Baby in my arms and continued cleaning.
Ten minutes later, the phone rang again. It was the same number. A sudden thought crossed my mind—it might be the school calling to inform me that Kid needed to be picked up due to illness. She hadn’t felt well the day before but seemed fine now.
“Hello?”
“Hi, is this Jenna?”
“Yes.”
“This is Sarah from the Elementary School. We have Kid here. She’s waiting to be picked up. Today is a common day, so school let out at 2:15.”
My heart sank. “Oh no! I’m on my way!”
I hung up, quickly secured Baby in her car seat, and cursed the cars in front of me as I sped towards the school. My mind raced with images of Kid sitting alone in the office, her head bowed, swinging her feet sadly, devastated by the fact that her Mama had forgotten her.
Upon arriving, I grabbed Baby and hurried into the office, only to find Kid happily assisting the office staff with some cleaning, looking like she was thoroughly enjoying herself.
After a brief moment of confusion—wondering why she was not in distress as I had imagined—I rushed to her side and enveloped her in a hug. “I’m so sorry! Are you okay?”
“Yep!” she replied, finishing up with a chair and proudly gesturing to her drawings displayed for the office staff.
“She’s quite the little artist,” Sarah smiled at me. “Don’t worry, you’re not the only parent who forgot today was a common day.”
“Common day? I’m sorry, I’m still new to this whole school routine.”
“It’s an early release day due to parent-teacher conferences. The next one won’t be until February.”
Note to self: remember to pick up Kid early in February for the next set of conferences.
“Oh, did we receive an email about this?”
“Yes, the principal sent out a message a few days ago.”
Right—the one email I didn’t read. Why? Because the subject line said “Parent-Teacher Conferences,” and I had previously been informed through numerous emails that kindergarteners wouldn’t be having conferences.
Great.
Then I spotted it—the Scarlet Letter of shame. Well, more like a fluorescent yellow note pinned to Kid’s shirt.
Yes, I was aware it was October 8th. The time for pick-up was circled, as if I needed a reminder of her PM schedule. They clearly don’t trust me.
Wait… school started an hour earlier today? My mission to get her to school on time had turned into a complete failure. #momfail
This entire experience was undeniably a #momfail. And as if my oversight weren’t enough, Kid now sported a note pinned to her shirt, which was apparently meant to shame me further for forgetting her pick-up time.
In all honesty, I understood the reasoning behind the note. If they put messages in her backpack, there’s a good chance she wouldn’t remember to pass it along to me. That’s why they send emails. At least the circling was done in a forgiving blue ink.
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In summary, the day I forgot to pick up my kindergartner from school was a lesson in the challenges of parenting, reminding me that even amidst the chaos, there can be light-hearted moments.