This morning was a typical weekday morning: wake up at 5:30; get self semi-presentable for workday; rouse, dress, and feed the baby and toddler; pack lunches, put on shoes and coats; make it halfway down driveway, turn around and run back to house so toddler can go potty, put shoes and coats back on (toddler won’t go potty while wearing shoes); load kids and schoolbags and car snacks and blankies into car, kiss kids and husband and wave goodbye. Breathe. Feed and throw balls for dog. Breathe. Wake up 6-year-old, assist with appropriate dressing, washing, feeding, back-pack packing; walk to bus stop, put child on bus. Run back to car (no time for breathing), drive to work.
All routine, except for the conversation that took place at aforementioned bus stop. There, my next-door-neighbor told me that his wife, who is traveling overseas for business, texted him twice already to make sure that he had dressed his children in the clothes she had purchased especially for picture day. Picture Day????? How could I have forgotten? I’ve been feeling like a horrible mother all day. My colleagues are reassuring me that it’s no big deal; that my son will look great no matter what he’s wearing. But I think they’re just being kind. I’m hoping that his dazzling smile will distract from his everyday t-shirt. And tonight, after playtime, dinner, baths, reading, brushing, and bed tucking, I will mark all such dates on my calendar for the remainder of the school year.