I Forgot My Child’s Parent-Teacher Conference. What’s Your Superpower?
A couple of weeks ago I missed my daughter’s parent-teacher conference. Like just plain forgot it. The meeting was requested by her teacher so we could touch base on some things. I requested a particular timeframe and the confirmation paper was sent home in my daughter’s folder the week her dad and I were so sick. And I was a no-show.
I remember seeing the pink reminder paper being laid on the table, mentally taking note of the time and thinking that I needed to get the meeting on my calendar. I remember thinking that it was a good thing that our meeting was the following week so I wouldn’t spread my gnarly germs at school. Then as the days progressed in the week, other things started being added to the pile and the paper slowly got buried, and my poor brain’s capability of remembering things beyond the past 30 minutes was long gone.
On the day of the supposed conference, I had worked all day, picked up Kid One from school, driven across town to pick up Kid Two from daycare, then driven all the way back across town to our home. I sent Kid One up to shower and hoped that Kid Two could find something alluring to play with in the other room, which she did, thankfully.
I sat on the recliner and tried to get my bearings and figure out what I was going to do for dinner, sinking into the plush veneer, exhaustion weighing me down like a herd of elephants. I still didn’t feel well, and the thought of doing anything other than sitting on my rear was not appealing at all.
It was at that moment when I was doing a mental brain dump in order to free up some energy that I got the phone call.
It was my daughter’s teacher.
As soon as she identified herself, I immediately panicked, remembering the pink sheet of paper still buried on the table, and remembering that I was supposed to, at that very moment, be sitting at the squatty table in the classroom trying not to touch anything and finishing up our conversation about my daughter.
Embarrassed and mortified don’t even come close to describing how I felt. I think I apologized at least four or five times. Her teacher was gracious, but I couldn’t help but write another email apology later that night.
We had our “conference” over the phone, but I couldn’t quite get my brain to focus on the task at hand. I couldn’t think of the words I wanted to say, and I was sure my answers either sounded completely canned or hopelessly ignorant. Not to mention that I couldn’t stop my croupy coughing in her ear. I was sure her teacher thought I was one of “those” parents who are running so crazy in life that they don’t give much thought to their child’s schooling.
The irony of it was that one of the things we were supposed to talk about during the conference was my new job and how the family transitions were potentially affecting our daughter and how we can best help her navigate the new normal.
It was so easy in those moments after I hung up the phone to slide back into the age-old habit of negative self-talk. I started to think about all the other moms I know who would never forget their kid’s conference, and how her teacher must think I’m a complete mess. In my mind, I was a complete mess for forgetting something that important.
It honestly took a text exchange with one of my closest friends and a phone call with my mom to help put the situation in the proper perspective. They gently reminded me that not only was I sick (like nasty influenza sick), but my husband was sick too, our girls had colds and I was only on week three of a brand-new job that had totally turned our family’s normal upside down. It’s not that I didn’t care about my daughter or her school, but that I was totally wiped out. I had nothing left in me. And that was okay.
That’s when I had to challenge myself to give myself the grace that I always talk about giving.
This is as much for me as it is for anyone else who needs to hear it: It’s time to stop beating ourselves up for mistakes.
Everybody makes mistakes. Some mess-ups may be a little bigger than others, but they are all far from purposeful. That’s what makes them mistakes.
Have you done something lately that you just can’t get over? You might feel embarrassed or incapable or frustrated, and maybe you’re giving yourself a mental beatdown?
Stop. Right. Now.
Just because you messed up doesn’t mean that mistake defines you.
What defines you is how you learn from your experiences and let them change your perspective. It’s your courage. Your resilience. Your grit. Your soul. It’s the 152 times you fall down and the 152 times you pick yourself back up and you try again for the 153rd time. Nobody is perfect, so it’s high time we stop expecting perfection from ourselves.
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