There have been moments since my oldest child was born that I have felt a bit cocky about my parenting abilities. You know those events when you simply do or say the exact right thing and walk away feeling like the best mother in the world. Unfortunately, my track record has suffered lately, as I have made a series of parenting mistakes. For example, I allowed my four-year-old to walk around with pneumonia for three weeks before taking her to the doctor–not a stellar move on my part. And last week when my youngest was throwing a tantrum over the fact that our new puppy didn’t want to snuggle with her, I said, “The next time you scream like that you better have a bone sticking out and blood gushing all over the floor.” Perhaps not the most nurturing of responses.
Last night I went out to dinner with my girlfriends. My oldest daqughter, Meg, was at soccer practice when I left, and I didn’t see her until I returned home. When I walked in the door, she asked, “So, what teachers did you meet?”
I looked a bit like this:
as it dawned on me that while I was chatting, laughing, and eating with my girlfriends, hundreds of mothers and fathers where at the high school parent-teacher night, which I totally and completely forgot about. The other disturbing information that came out of this exchange is that my son, husband, and youngest daughter all knew I was out to dinner, but no one bothered to pass this key piece of news on to Meg. Apparently, when I am not home no one in my family talks to each other.