I did it. It took me nearly 15 years, but it happened. I can’t believe it. I swore I never would. I’d like to say I’m embarrassed, but the way it went down wasn’t so bad.
We’re always busy this time of year. Our kids are always in The Augusta Players’ Christmas show, so we are used to going 100 miles per hour, barely surviving the first several weeks of December. This year, my kids are trying to kill me my being just as busy but doing completely different things. Just this week, they have a combined 10 performances between two groups.
That’s not really my excuse. It may sound like an excuse. I promise it’s not.
When The Girl was little, she always worried I’d forget to do something I’d promised. If she, say, forgot her lunch and asked me to bring it to school, she’d worry and fret until the lunch showed up. She was afraid I was leaving her behind, anytime we went anywhere. If she wasn’t in my shoes with me, she’d think I was abandoning her for good. I always said, “I’ve never forgotten you, and I never could.”
What’s that they say about “never say never?”
I’ll never feed my children McDonald’s. I’ll never let them watch TV. I’ll never let them sleep in my bed. I’ll never leave them somewhere. Aren’t parents cute?
The other night, The Boy and I left the Imperial, talking to friends and hurrying, because it was windy. We went up Calhoun Expressway, chatting away. We planned the week, making sure we had everything covered. A few minutes later, once we were almost home, I said, “Wait.”
And he said, “Where’s The Girl?” We’d realized it at the same time.
Oh my goodness. We should’ve noticed sooner. She talks often. She’s been known to frequently interrupt while talking about her day.
I called her. The Boy sent her a text. I called her again. No answer. Crap. Actually, I wasn’t panicking all that much. If I’m being completely truthful, we were amused. How on earth did we forget our chatty little girl?
I finally got a friend on the phone, and he said he’d let her know.
She told me later that another friend, who’d heard what I did, came up and quietly told her, “uh, your mom will be here soon. She kinda left you.” In typical happy-girl fashion, she got over it and sat and waited.
Often during these crazy weeks at the theater, my husband and I split the kids up, dividing and conquering when it comes to getting them home. They’ll finish at different times, and because of other circumstances, I rarely have both kids in my car together after a late night at the Imperial.
I got back, worried she’d be even a little upset with me. She laughed at me. Everyone laughed at me. I laughed at myself, thankful I’d chosen the theater, a virtual second home, to be the place where it happened. Many close friends were still there. They offered to bring her home next time. She’d gotten busy trying on costumes.
I finally did it. I forgot a kid, and she didn’t even notice.