Mia Culpa

About a week before Jack was born eleven years ago, a friend of mine gave me a little motherhood pep talk encouraging me to aim for the middle and not try to be the "best" mom. She reasoned that if I lowered the bar, I would constantly surpass the expectations I had placed on myself and therefore be happier and less stressed. A less stressed happy mom raises less stressed happy children. When I failed to exceed this goal, I would not beat myself up because I had aimed for the middle, after all, and what did I expect? I mean, really?

Well I have (mostly) successfully been applying myself to this doctrine for over a decade and I finally failed miserably. I sent Jack to tennis camp for two weeks - clear across the country. He flew as an unaccompanied minor and arrived safe and sound in Burlington, VT. Then something happened to me during that time - probably going from two children's lives to schedule, to one - and the next thing I knew, life was less hectic. I wasn't checking my calendar or my email as frequently. Makena was in day camp three days a week. She had play dates and went fishing with her dad. I rediscovered the enjoyment of reading the newspaper in the morning and having a conversation with my husband (even though he still speaks Martian.) The pace was calm and relaxed and dare I say, rejuvenating. All this ecstasy came to a thundering halt when I received a call from my annoyed son telling me that I had screwed up. I was thinking at the time that he was referring to the care package contents I had sent to him - more specifically, the nail clipper. But, no. It was more along the lines of: camp was over and no one was there to pick him up. #**!!@%*! What the?

My sister was to retrieve him from camp and then drive him across the border to Canada to spend four days with her and his cousins in Montreal before sending him home to us, except that I had given her THE WRONG DATE. She was planning on going on the fifth and here we were on the fourth and camp was over for three hundred campers but Jack. Jack called her around noon to find out when she was arriving and, by some miracle, she actually answered the phone. And in uber aunt form, dropped everything, grabbed her passport and drove three hours down to get him. Thank you, Cath! For the record, my sister does not believe in aiming for the middle. She aims for the top. Always.

Fortunately for me, a) my son was used to my mediocrity so this incident - although horrifying, embarrassing and shocking - did not traumatize him too badly. (I may be in denial about this.) And, b) my husband, although horrified, embarrassed and traumatized, did not divorce me. ( I may be in denial about this, too.)

Interestingly, this incident brought back memories of me being left in a park by my dad when I was four (policemen who found me took me to the station until they could locate my parents - long story) and I have always found it difficult to forgive him even though it is an episode that is always recalled with humor. Since I screwed up, I can somehow now relate to him and therefore I forgive him. We obviously have some recessive parenting gene and compassion is in order.

I only hope that Jack can find it in him to forgive me.

Mia culpa.

Isa- going to aim higher