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Bad Day to Be Mom
Yesterday disturbed me. In fact, it’s safe to say that yesterday was one of the worstparenting days I’ve ever had.And I’ve had some doozies.It all started with the rain. We had had unusually mild weather for February, in fact, webroke a record high the other day, 71 degrees, which was set back in 1860. This makesme wonder – did we have Global Warming back in the 1800’s? After all, how does oneexplain the unusually high temperature nearly 150 years ago?But I digress.I was talking about my no-good-very-bad-parenting day.It began raining about noon. I sat and watched the sheets of rain compete for an audiencefor nearly ten minutes before I heard it – the dripdripdrip of water. I froze. That’s notnecessarily a sound one wants to hear in the comfort of one’s own home.I turned my head and noticed that our fireplace stones were bleeding water. This soundsdramatic, and actually, it was. There is really no other way to describe it; the stone’spores were oozing water. And the water was making a broken trail down the side of thefireplace and finally dripping off the mantel and onto the rocks below.I sighed. This occasionally happens when the weather changes. I grabbed an old toweland began patting the stones dry while tucking a portion of the towel against the mantleto soak up the dribbling moisture.I had just finished this thought, “I really hope it isn’t raining this hard when it’s time topick up the kids,” when the phone rang. I stared at it. There is an ongoing family joke thatif there is a sales call to be had, it will happen when I answer the phone. And this joke isrooted in truth for indeed, I’ve been ordained by the gods to be on the receiving end of every phone advertising campaign out there.So, I ignored it. But I felt this funny little sizzle at the back of my neck. Sort of liketouching bacon shortly after removing it from the microwave; it stings but isn’tnecessarily painful.I stood stock still and jumped when the phone rang again. And this time, I knew it wasn’ta sales call for who would be bold enough to irritate a potential customer twice in fiveminutes?I answered the phone.“Hello?”
 
 “Mom?”My heart immediately dropped to my female regions. “Hey kiddo, what’s up?”“It’s early release today, mom.”It perhaps took me less than a second to digest what he was telling me. And in that half second, I looked at the clock. Early release meant two hours early – the kids got out of school at 2:45, it was now 12:58.And in that half second time span, my eyes shifted to the torrential downpour outside andmy mind immediately went to the two older boys that were most likely standing out inthe rain, waiting for me to pick them up.A lot of brain activity occurred in that half second.“I’ll be right there!” I yelled and slammed down the phone. I rushed to put on my sweats,had the presence of mind to grab several towels, stuck my feet into my shoes and racedout the door.I screeched out of my driveway and floored the accelerator. Keeping one eye on the road,I reached into my purse and yanked out my cell phone. I turned it on. No messages. I hadexpected to find a message from my oldest son sounding quite irate and very wet askingme where the hell I was. Having no messages was somehow worse.I raced down the street, cursing my stupidity and praying the boys wouldn’t be scarredfor life because mom forgot about them.I had to slow down two times because OF COURSE, there were not one, but two copswaiting like patient predators for stupid people like me to be in a hurry and breaking allsorts of laws.After making several life-altering deals with God to not be stopped and given a speedingticket, thereby pouring salt into my wound and making me even more late, I reached myyoungest son.He was standing on a street corner, his small hands wrapped around the umbrella rod, hislittle body shivering, his shoulders hunched over. Even from a distance, I could tell hislips were blue.I’ve never hated myself more than in those few seconds.I punched on my hazard lights and pulled over to pick up my son.
 
“What the heck!” He yelled as he threw in his backpack, collapsed his umbrella and fellinto the car.I didn’t even wait for him to buckle up before I sped off once more.“I’m sorry,” I sobbed. “I’m so sorry. I totally forgot about early release today. I’m a badmother. I should be hospitalized. You have my permission to put me in an old folks’home. I deserve it! I deserve sitting in my own drool and smelling like pee!”I couldn’t help but feel just a wee bit better when my son sighed heavily. “It’s okay,mom. It happens.”Not to me, is what I thought. I hadn’t thought I was a bad mother. Sure, I occasionallyyell at my children when I’m tired or hormonal, but I always apologized afterward. Ididn’t baby them too much, but I always made sure they felt safe and secure. And I hadnever forgotten them … until today.My self-loathing was interrupted by my cell phone. I knew who it was without evenlooking.“I’m on my way!” I yelled.“We’re standing in the rain,” a deep, man voice said into my ear. “We’re soaked.”“I know. I’m so sorry. I forgot about early release. I’m on my way. I’ll be there in fiveminutes.” I paused to breathe in a shaky breath. “Go stand by the building. It will giveyou a little shelter.”“It’s raining,” said my son. He sounded both stunned and wounded.Somehow, I kept my voice firm and ignored the tears running down my face. “Fiveminutes. Seek shelter.” I snapped my cell phone shut – the sound triggering the closure of my esophagus; I couldn’t breathe.Traffic was bad. I began cursing people’s stupidity. It was RAIN. It wouldn’t KILL you.Move your ASS. My son and his friend were COLD and WET! The boy’s mother wouldbe furious with me for being so careless with her son’s care. I ground my teeth as I gotstuck behind a truck. We crept along at 20 miles an hour.Nearly ten minutes later, I pulled onto the street that would take me to the boys. Ireleased a sigh of relief and scanned the area for them. I saw them huddled together, justover the bridge and up next to the building. They were trying to act tough; they lookedcold, miserable and young. My chest hurt with each beat of my heart.The person in front of me wouldn’t turn left. I needed to go right. The person in front of me chose to ignore several opportunities to turn left. Finally, I had had it. My nerves were
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