This “What the Heck!?” moment is brought to you today by the letters W- T- F, and the number 7 (for my seven-year-old).
It never fails. The day my husband absolutely has to be at work super-ridiculously early for a PT Test, I get the best worst most-effective wake-up call first thing in the morning. My sleepy-eyed second-grader rolls over when I waken him, eyes opening much easier this morning than others, usually. “Mommy? I have to be at school early today.”
“Early? Huh? Why?” (Monosyllabic, singular responses, because it’s early and mom is only capable of caveman-esque grunts.)
“Because I have to do the announcements this morning.”
“Say WHAT!?” (She has awoken. Two words strung together, now. Pitch heightened.)
“I have to..”
“What TIME do you have to be there?” (REDCON 1 awake. That’s a full sentence on a couple sips of coffee, folks.)
“I don’t know…”
Hard to imagine this 33-week pregnant butt springing into action, but that’s exactly what happened. My oldest son calls out to align the troops, “Guys! We have to put it in hyper-gear this morning! Super M has to be at school early for the announcements!”
And, just like that, the blur and eye crust hadn’t even been removed from my eyes yet, and my children were moving as if on fast-forward. Hurried shuffling of bowls and milk and jingle-jangling silverware and pans and whisking eggs while I snag backpacks to sign folders, make drinks, toss out medicine and vitamins like bird feed while taking moments to slurp on huge gulps of coffee trying to make sense of the frenetic morning.
We succeeded.
My oldest stayed in the car with the two very sleepy-headed littles while I accompanied him into the school. “Hi, my son has to do the announcements this morning? Where does he need to go?”
“Oh! Well, usually, they just get called from their class.”
My son chimes in, “Yeah, I have to go to my teacher. They’ll call me down.”
Inside my head, I’m screaming, WHY DID I WALK YOU IN WITH MY CAMERA, THEN!? Outside, I’m smiling, jovial, gritting my teeth as I joke about how I thought I might be able to snap a pre-picture of him since I can’t stay. And before I could even ask him to make his way over there for me, he was gone.
HE WENT TO CLASS!
No, “Goodbye, mom.”
No, “I love you.”
No, “Thanks for rushing your tired pregnant ass so fast for me this morning, I appreciate you. You’re the best mom in the world!”
(Ha! Yeah right! Wishful thinking..)
Instead, I saw the dust cloud he left in his wake, this full-bellied child scurrying off, with wetted hair to rejuvenate his curls flattened by sleep, his Transformers backpack slung across his back, a mere blur moving in the distance.
I pointed to him, silently implying his audaciousness with a single, wounded-yet-evil-mom-eyes type-of look to the secretary, who just laughed.
“I love you. Have a good day..” I whispered to myself as I walked out, crestfallen I missed out on the opportunity to commemorate the day, and without my goodbye hug, but so grateful for my children, who truly pulled together a home-run in the ninth inning when our family needed one.
Goodbye hug or not, I am proud. Proud of him, proud of us, proud of the tired I feel right now, in the aftermath, where the adrenaline has worn off, and the rest of my day is ahead of me.
I think I shall celebrate with a well-deserved nap. And an extra hug from him to make-up for the one I missed out on.
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