… and it’s only round one.
Today I got to wear my ‘worst mother in the world’ hat.
Geek boy’s chess thing is today. The bus left school at 8.00 to transport the team across Brisbane. (How did I miss this information?) I dropped him off at 8.15, as usual, with a kiss and a wave.
I am home less than 30 seconds (and it’s a 15 minute drive) when the mobile chirps. It seems there is a very distraught boy in the office who missed the bus.
Righto, since I am already in the running for mother of the year, I’ll head back and collect him and drive him to other side of Brisbane High School. Guilt pangs as I hoon head back to the school.
~ Now let me interject here for a minute. I abhor lateness and am always up my family for tardiness. This morning, after my shower, I put on my oldest daggies and thongs. I never leave the house in bogan shoes, unless I know I am to be one of the great unseen. When I unlock the car and park my rear, I am met with a warm wetness and a distinct smell of mushrooms. Oh look, the sunroof was left open on my CRV. And it stormed here last night. Intensely. So I am in my daggy house pants, oldest pool singlet, wet hair lathered in conditioning treatment combed through and no make up, bogan shoes (thongs) but that’s all OK, because it’s not late and I have time to drop him off at school and have a leisurely cup of tea, open up the car in the sun, take out the floor mats and then do something with self to face the world proper. ~
Back to the matter. Still looking like someone from a housing commission, I hoon back to the school in my wet car and race to the office, where reception eye me dubiously. She tells me that geek boy is down in the library with two other boys who have missed the bus. If parental permission is attained, would I consider taking the other boys as well?
Seeing this as an opportunity to redeem myself in front of my son, I am graciously quick to affirm that indeed, I would be happy to to do. So by 9.45 , I have three 11 year old boys in wet car smelling like mushrooms (the boys and the car, I think) and I am zooming across town.
An hour later, the repercussions of being a bad mother come to haunt. I have no choice but to walk through a hall and yard full of high schoolers, my wet hair now dried, plastered to my scalp on the crown and frizzy ends, thong bogan feet, house clothes and all. Only the profuse thanks and looks of gratitude and appreciation on the face of my 3 charges stop me from slinking red faced back out the way I came.
The whole procedure ate 3 hours out of my morning.
The rest of my day will be spent finishing the celebration guilt chess cake.
It must be someone else’s turn to wear the hat.