For my sins, he'd been left behind

For my sins (British & Australian, humorous):
A phrase you say in order to make a joke about the fact that something you have to do or something that you are is a punishment for being bad.

Well, it’s official. I’m a bad mommy. Rainy weather, a distracted mind, and complicated scheduling coalesced into every parent’s nightmare: I left my child behind.

I’d arranged to take LegoGuy and his friend Z to a church youth activity, after which I had to drive to Edmond to deliver Sport to yet another piano competition. A light mist was falling as I dropped the two teenagers off at church. I saw adults going in and out of the fellowship hall, so I didn’t bother to go in with the boys. I waved and headed north.

Imagine my horror when I got home and found this message on my answering machine:

“Hey Mom, we’re at the theater with Z’s mom. Talk to you later.”

(Note to self: review with LegoGuy the necessary components of relaying an effective message.)

I gathered from this minimal bit of information that the group outing had been cancelled. Z must have called his mom to get the abandoned boys. She’d given up her Saturday morning to shuttle the boys to a movie and lunch.

What must she think of me? Would she ever trust with her son again?

I called the youth leader who confirmed my suspicions. The ranch had cancelled. Too much rain, too much mud, and not enough buffalo to watch. “I emailed you last night,” she said. Unfortunately, the email address she has is my work address, so there’s no way I would have gotten it on a Friday evening.

Eventually, LegoGuy called back and said they were going to do some shopping and would be back later that afternoon. Z’s mom didn’t seem angry at all, just amused.

I know parents with the best of intentions eventually make mistakes. Where does this rank in my long list of missteps? How does it compare to the time I left the passenger door unlocked, and Tiny LegoGuy opened it while we were turning onto a busy intersection. Or the time I bundled him into an idling car to take him to preschool, went back into the house to retrieve something, and screamed as the car bumped into the garage wall. (He'd put the car in drive all by his 3-year-old self.) Or the time I let him ride his tricycle in the dark (with a helmet), saw him barrel down the driveway, hit gravel, pitch forward over the handle bars, and knock out a front tooth in the process.

Shiver.

Truth is, my mind just wasn't on what I had to do. It was on what I wanted to do. What I really wanted to do on Saturday was go up to Stillwater with some friends to protest possibly the worst president ever. I wanted to work in the garden, pulling up the swampweed that has sprouted since we started getting all this rain. I wanted to shop for a new swimsuit. But the kids and their activities have to come first.

I guess it's just one more incident LegoGuy will have to discuss with his future therapist.

Today's miscellany:
Sport's score for 2 piano solos: 99, 100
Finished reading: On the wild edge: in search of a natural life, by David Petersen
Inches of rain over the last week: 3+
Hours weeding: 2 1/2
Bush clock countdown: 987 days to go