Perfect, Schmerfect

Apparently, I have used this blog to make myself appear better than I am.  My dad recently chastised me for not writing anything bad about myself.  He wondered why I hadn't written about an incident that occured a year ago.  Well, I wasn't writing on the blog a year ago.  He wasn't satisfied with the fact that I sent out a Christmas card to 80 people telling them about the incident to which he referred.  So, in order to dispel any false images you may have of me, I give you a lovely parenting story that gets brought up with annoying frequency.

It started off as any normal afternoon.  Race home from school, get chores and homework done while scarfing down some food, pack up the car, get everyone in it, and head to practices.

As usual, I had asked everyone if they had gone to the bathroom, as there are no facilities at track practice. 

We drove the 10 minutes to soccer, dropped off two kids, then drove another 20 minutes to get to track.  I was one of the coaches, so we were there to stay.  As I collected my things, I alerted everyone that we had arrived at our final destination and that they needed to stop reading and get their sweet little rear ends out of the car.

I saw one child get out, and the two little ones were making their way to the van door.  I couldn't see Giant. 

"Come on, Giant.  We're here!"

No answer.

"Not funny, Giant!  Let's go!"

No answer.  No little eight year old Giant.

I ran and grabbed Star, who sits in the back seat of our 12 passenger van with Giant, and basically yelled in his face, "Was Giant in the car when we left the house?"

"Um, no.  I don't think he was."

I couldn't even speak I was so astounded by that response. 

I grabbed my phone to see if he had called.  My ancient phone that I had just charged was dead.

I rudely grabbed the phone from a co-coach's hand and called home.

On the first ring, Giant answered with a sweet little, "Mommy?"

I left Star at practice and raced home, where I heard the story.  When I reminded everyone about the lack of facilities, he went to the bathroom.  When he came out, we were gone.  He tried to call, but there was no answer.  He knew I'd figure it out when we got to the track, so he simply watched TV until I called.

On the way back to pick everyone up from their practices, an ambulance went screaming by in the opposite direction.  My dear smart aleck commented, "Huh.  I wonder if another mom forgot her kid at home alone."

Feel better about yourself yet?  If not, you will in a minute.

A full two months later, we were once again headed to soccer.  For the first time, before or since, Turken yells from behind me, "Do we have everyone?"

"Yes, dear.  Phoenix, say hi."

Check.

"Buttecup?"

Check.

"Star?"

Check.

"Giant?"

No answer.

"Not funny, Giant.  Tell Turken that you're here."

No answer.  No Giant.

As I reach for my phone, it rings.

"Mommy?"

"Hi, Darling.  I left the house five minutes ago.  What took you so long to call?"

"I had to get back to the house first."

Yeah.  This time he came out of the house while we were still in the driveway.  He ran after us, waving and hollering, but we didn't see him.  Once we turned onto the street, he walked back to the house to call.

To give you a visual, this is the reenactment photo we included in our Christmas card. 

The moral of the story:  Get in the car when your mother says it is time to go.

Have a lovely, humbling day!