By Kelly Youngblood
It took eight years and three children but I finally did it. I completely forgot to pick up my own son.
If you are just completely appalled and could never in a million years see yourself doing such a thing, then please don’t read any further. Good luck and Godspeed on the rest of your parenting journey!
But if you’re a flawed and imperfect, but well-meaning mother such as myself, then I invite you to continue reading so that we may commiserate over this whole crazy motherhood business.
So here’s the facts. It was Back to School Night (adults only) for the middle child, the older one had football practice and my husband was out of town for work.
I managed to drop the older one off at practice, pick up the new babysitter for her very first gig with us, and brought the babysitter, middle child, and youngest child back to the school playground where she was going to watch them.
I gave them a $10 bill for Dairy Queen in case they wanted to walk across the street and have a treat and went off on my way, feeling happy with myself for finding a solution to a conundrum I always find myself in these days. Too many children, not enough of me.
“Man, I’m getting good at this mom thing,” I think foolishly. “Someone needs to give me a medal!”
One hour later I returned to the playground to find two happy, filthy children covered in dirt and remnants of chocolate ice cream and a sweet babysitter who swore they were “really good the whole time.”
That’s when I should have left to pick up the older one at football practice.
But that thought didn’t cross my mind. Instead, my middle son was begging to go up and see his new classroom and meet his new teacher, and I thought, “Yeah, that’s a good idea. He should get a sneak peek. It might help with those first-day-of-school jitters.”
So we all march merrily back into the school, check out his new digs, chat with his new teacher and 30 minutes later, we are finally heading back to my mini-van to take the babysitter back home.
“Ahhh, success,” I think to myself. “I got this. I’m Super Mom!”
And then I open my car doors, get a whiff of a stinky football jersey, and it hits me.
“I HAVE FORGOTTEN TO PICK UP MY SON!!!!”
Panic sets in, I’m shouting at the others to “Hurry up, buckle up, we have to go NOW!!!!”
I tell the babysitter, “See how much I need you? See how much I need someone to help me?”
She glances at me out of the corner of her eye and laughs nervously.
My phone rings and an unfamiliar number pops up. I answer it and it’s my son. He sounds scared, disappointed, and a little on the judge-y side.
“Mom, where are you?” he asks.
“I’m on my way buddy. I’ll be there in just a second. That thing at your brother’s school just took forever tonight.” That wasn’t a complete lie.
I’m only blocks away from the practice but in my panic, I miss my turn. The babysitter redirects me and my I rocket my mini-van down the street, rip-roaring into the parking lot, kicking up clouds of dust.
Relief sets in as I see my son playing catch with his football coach. (I had envisioned high school drug pushers circling him, taunting him, poking him with a stick.) God bless his football coach. He assured me that he never leaves a man behind.
I uttered a thousand apologies, rambled on about “losing track of time” and “such a crazy night.” I don’t think he totally hates my guts.
Finally, we’re all in the car, safe and sound, heading back to the babysitter’s house. My oldest (now known as the forgotten child) sits quietly in the back seat with red-rimmed eyes. He had “cried a little”, according to his coach. (Insert huge amounts of motherhood guilt here.)
He was really confused as to what happened and why I was so late. I had never done that before so the concept was a new one to him. See, there’s proof I’m not a terrible mom!
I reassured him it wouldn’t happen again (I didn’t swear it on the Bible so I’m good) and he seemed to perk up soon after that. Then he noticed his siblings were covered in chocolate ice cream and complained about the injustice of it all, so we promptly went back to Dairy Queen and got him a Blizzard. There. “The Night He Was Forgotten” was already a distant memory for him.
But not for me. It scared me! I couldn’t believe my brain could betray me like that. Yes, our schedule was hectic but my gosh, how could I just forget to pick him up?
Turns out, lot’s of moms do it. I confided in a few close friends who exchanged similar stories. It made me feel better to know I wasn’t alone. I guess I didn’t have to turn in my mom badge for one unintentional mistake.
My son hasn’t brought it up since so I guess he’s not ruminating on what a horrible mother I am.
The coach hasn’t pulled me aside to have any “ private talks” with me so maybe he doesn’t think I’m a complete loser. He should be expecting a batch of chocolate chip cookies very soon.
We didn’t scare the babysitter off either! She gave us another shot and it went great the second time- no children were lost or forgotten!
And as for me, I’ve stopped beating myself up over the whole ordeal. Nobody is perfect. People make mistakes. And thanks to the “Don’t Forget to Pick Up Your Son” alarm I’ve set on my I-phone, hopefully, I won’t make that same one again.
Kelly is a freelance 
writer and a mom to three wild and wonderful children. She has lived in the C-U area for most of her life but is still finding new and interesting things to do in the area.