The last couple of weeks have been stressful, to say the least, but they culminated in realizing today that my husband and I missed an important event which occurred this morning.
We thought it was to be a simple, in-class presentation on the science unit our daughter and her class just completed. Somehow we got our wires crossed and totally missed the fact that it was a one-time, special grade-related event in the school gym where each child had her or his own chair as an “audience” and presented her or his report – complete with laminated, spiral bound book with facts, pictures and poems – multiple times as the audience milled around and switched places. We both had projects at work, so we didn’t schedule the time off so we could be there.
Are you grimacing yet? That would be a mild understatement compared to how I felt when I found out the importance of the event. Bad kind of heartache.
Let’s refresh…After battling the flu, I forgot the parent-teacher conference a few weeks ago and didn’t show up, I haven’t been able to come to school parties because of my work schedule, I’m not able to go to the end-of-year field trip, there were a few weeks where we forgot homework and forgot to turn the homework card in, and now this. I kind of feel like this is the point where I should turn in my “mom card” and admit that I have no clue what I’m doing and I mess up a lot and have no business parenting two tiny human beings when I can barely remember what day of the week it is or if I took my multi-vitamin or not.
The good news is we have some very special friends who made sure our daughter’s chair was filled for at least a couple of rounds and sent us a video of the presentation. They said her chair stayed filled the whole time and she seemed pretty happy and self-aware of the situation and explained to them that she realized that we didn’t understand what the event was. Good kind of heartache.
Wow. That’s grace, people.
I’m thankful that our daughter is perceptive, but I sometimes wish she wasn’t so much so. It’s hard to think that your child sees you fail and understands more than you realize. She sometimes gives more grace than I think I will ever be capable of.
She didn’t seem too upset about it all after school, either, and I tried to talk through it with her on the way home and let her know that even when her daddy and I can’t be there, we’re still cheering her on in spirit and are so very proud of her and love her so much. She sounded a little surprised, but that’s her typical reaction to things.
What do you do when you mess up? What do you do when you feel like you have let another, special human being whom you love very much down?
It’s a normal reaction to get a bit emotional, maybe sad, angry, frustrated. Maybe you feel incompetent or unworthy. Those are all normal, and they’re not bad. It’s just not good to stay there. That doesn’t define you.
So now that I have a precedent for this, I can make plans for the future that make sure this doesn’t happen again. That’s actually step two. The first step is letting myself feel. All. The. Things. And then let them go. It’s the hardest step, but the most necessary. Let it be.
Tonight I am grateful.
I’m grateful for friends who are like family who step in to support my child when I can’t be there.
I’m grateful for grace, and for a child who sometimes grasps the concept better than some adults ever will.
I’m grateful for family, and for children who love music and can’t keep their little bodies still when it is playing.
I’m grateful for unruly, springy curls on a tow-headed toddler, and for darkening, wavy tresses on a growing girl.
I’m grateful for a child with an insatiable curiosity about the world and how it works – who can’t stop asking questions, even if it’s 3:00 AM.
I’m grateful for the tiny human who loses her pacifier and kicks off her blankets in the middle of the night and, when all these are replaced, exclaims, “Oh, sank you, Mama.”
I’m grateful for tiny arms that draw the whole family in for a giant, squishy-faced mess.
I’m thankful for the child who can’t go a day without her “90-second hug.”
I’m grateful for the growing independence that makes it impossible for the tiny toddler to stay in one place for more than 30 seconds, even when snuggling before bed.
I’m grateful for a child who loves learning and is happy and proud of her accomplishments.
I’m grateful for the small moments where there is nothing but love.
I’m grateful for the fact that, even if I do a whole bunch of things wrong, I’m doing my best; and once in a while, probably more often than I give myself credit for, I do something very right.
I will remind myself that I am human and I am loved, and I will end the day with a portion of the liturgical Lord, It is Night prayer from the New Zealand Prayer Book:
“It is night after a long day.
What has been done has been done;
what has not been done has not been done;
let it be…
“The night heralds the dawn.
Let us look expectantly to a new day,
new joys,
new possibilities…
“Amen.”
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