Some of my favorite childhood persecution stories involve my mother's forgetting to pick me up from swim practice. My father arrived at the pool one night, half an hour late, and said, "I'm not supposed to tell you this, but your mom forgot we had to pick you up." Another time she forgot because my dad had been out of town for a week, and I had been driving myself to and from the pool with his car. She kept waiting for me to walk through the door, and when my dad arrived instead, she remembered that I didn't have a vehicle.
I never understood how a mom could forget to pick up her own child. I mean, doesn't remembering to pick up your children come as part of the whole maternal instinct thing?
And then today I almost forgot to pick up Lily from preschool.
Campbell was napping. I was working. Ella was watching last night's gymnastics. My dad was talking on a conference call. The house was so peaceful.
Then I looked at the clock and it was 12:55; Lily's school ends at 1:00. I yelled and bolted out the door. It was very good my dad was here to keep tabs on Campbell and Ella. Fortunately, traffic was light because UT is on break, and I made it to school in record time. I was only two minutes late for pick-up. Phew. If I had been any later, I would have had to do the walk of shame and go inside to fetch Lily from the office.
After today, though, I think I'll stop telling the childhood persecution stories about being forgotten. Now I know how it can happen. Besides, I have plenty of other stories I can still tell.