Finer Moments of Motherhood

After the snowflakes, the boys and I had a busy morning planned on Friday. First, we headed to Aidan's school to meet with his religion teacher. It was a special one on one meeting designed especially for me, the delinquent parent, for missing not one, but two, of the mandatory meetings to prepare our children for their first confession. I also missed the make up meeting. Yep, delinquent. And to a nun. Not just any nun, but the nun who taught me religion back in the day.

I should have been prepared for my very special make up meeting. But the snow excitement, a few work emails, and a skirmish over getting the boys dressed made us a bit late. So late that I forgot to brush the boys' hair. It was only as we raced into the school that I realized my sweater was on inside out.

I know. It's a miracle I make it through the day, isn't it. It's okay. I know.

I clutched my jacket close to my body. intent on hiding my sweater and quickly combed my fingers through the boys' hair. (And since you have seen Brennan's hair - you know that my hand comb job did no good. No good at all.)

We survived the meeting. (Although, I have a sneaking suspicion that the nun's intense discussion of the wonders of children attending church may have been brought on by our own lackluster church attendance record. And by lackluster - I mean no church attendance record.)

After leaving school, we rushed off to Wegmans to fill our very bare cupboards. I thought we made great time at our own grocery mecca as pulled up our overflowing grocery cart to the register line at 10:55 a.m., leaving us with more than enough time to get home to greet Aidan's bus at 11:30 am. (Yes, another half day. )

It should have been enough time. Definitely should have been. But I was struck by the curse of the SLOWEST grocery checker of all time. She scanned each item so deliberately, unbearably slow, and stopped every few seconds to glance at the store around her as if she was puzzled by her whereabouts. It was agonizing and I became paralyzed with fear as I contemplated that we might just not make it home in time.

We pulled out of the store parking lot at 11:25 and I was in full blown panic. I started repeatedly dialing family members in hopes of catching someone who could get to our house to get Aidan. I reached my Aunt Nancy who assured me she would drive to my house. I then called Chris, hysterical, to inform him that he had married the very worst person in the whole world to mother his children.

And then the bus garage called Chris on his other line. The bus garage called to tell him they were at our driveway and no one was home. My poor sweet boy was standing in our driveway waiting, just waiting, for anyone to come get him.

This was not one of my finer mothering moments.

Chris assured the bus garage that a family member was on their way and then clicked back to me, his hysterical wife, to convince me that Aidan would need not extended therapy to recover from this incident.

I calmed down as we got closer to our house. As I did, I realized that Brennan and Griffin had not said a word during the whole escapade. I asked them if they were okay and they both quietly said yes.

After a moment of silence, Brennan said softly, "Mommy?"

"Yes B?" I asked.

Brennan continued intently and quietly, "Mommy, I have to ask. I just have to ask. Now that they have him. The bus people? Now that they have him and we don't? Will they give him back to us mom? Can we get Aidan back?"

Great. I have not only scarred my seven year old, but my four year old too. Definitely not one of my better mothering days.