Today I was a couple of minutes late to pick my daughter up from preschool. This wouldn’t be a big deal to most people. But it is to me.
When my Elby started school a few weeks ago, she had the easiest transition ever. The kid doesn’t even look back at me when I leave. Every morning she practically pulls me out the door to get there faster. I couldn’t be happier that she’s so happy, getting to play with other kids, doing those adorable little art projects which are already growing dust in my office and coming home singing songs I’ve never heard before. She’s like a different child already. She likes to clean up! She’s so secure. So unlike I was at her age. And I want her to stay that way. Which is why I felt like shit even getting to her school a few minutes late.
I was the kid whose mom was always late. All the other children would have been picked up by their smiling faced parents in their Jeep Wagoneers or Station Wagons while I would sit with the teacher waiting. I had daycare after nursery school but even at the late hour of five or six or whatever it was, I remember always having to wait. Looking out for my mom and growing tenser by the minute. Would she ever come? My heart would leap up when I saw her car pulling up and I’d be filled with relief, but I’m sure I was angry too. Angry that I was always last. Unimportant.
From that perspective, picking my daughter up late SUCKED. I pictured my baby waiting and wondering where I was. Of course, in reality, she was riding a tryke around the play yard. She gave the cutest little yelp when she saw me but went right back to focusing on her mission at hand.
Obviously I will be late many more times in her school career. It’s not the end of the world. But it does make you realize the baggage you bring to the table as a parent.
Today is day to of my trying to eat healthier. But listen, I may not be eating sugar but I am going to have some Splenda. If I can’t have Splenda, the terrorists have won.