By Monday I was consumed by the family newsletter I'm in charge of (which I finally sent out today). Ordinarily I send it out by the Sunday morning of General Conference but that didn't work out this year (because the deadline for submissions was the first day of conference and because, as Andrew pointed out, I've spent the last five years' worth of priesthood sessions working on the newsletter because the kids were already in bed, but now we're two hours earlier than we were in North Carolina so priesthood session is no longer after bedtime).
Unfortunately, Mondays are also early release days for the kids so it wasn't an ideal day to be zeroed in on one thing and scatterbrained about everything else.
In my defence, I was walking out the door with plenty of time to pick Benjamin up from school on any other day of the week. I totally thought I was on top of things until my phone rang (we hadn't even reached the end of the driveway yet). I pulled it out and answered it and the voice on the other end gave her introductory spill about being so-and-so from the elementary school and then asked if she could speak with Benjamin's mother.
"This is she," I said, quite embarrassed when I realized why she was calling. "And I just remembered that today is early release day so we're already late. We were just leaving the house though, so we'll be there in a couple of minutes."
Zoë and I hopped in the van and drove to the school (for the very first time) to pick him up. We have walked every other day (and she was not happy about giving up her midday stroll) but I felt like we should probably get to the school relatively quickly. The poor boy was sitting in the office waiting to be picked up.
He looked half-relieved, half-annoyed to see us when we finally burst through the doors.
"I'm so sorry, buddy!" I said. "I didn't forget about you! I just..."
"I know, I know," he muttered, rolling his eyes and faintly sighing. "Sometimes parents just forget that it's Monday."
A handful of other disappointed-looking kindergarteners sitting in the office (waiting for their parents to pick them up) gravely nodded their agreement. Apparently the staff had already assured them that their parents definitely love them all; they're just...slightly idiotic. At least, that seemed to be what the takeaway was from whatever they were told. And I'm good with that.
"So, how many kids were in the office with you?" I asked Benjamin on our way to the van.
"Seven...eight...nine. Nine."
"There were nine kids waiting for their parents?!"
"Yup."
At least I'm in good company.
Unfortunately, Mondays are also early release days for the kids so it wasn't an ideal day to be zeroed in on one thing and scatterbrained about everything else.
In my defence, I was walking out the door with plenty of time to pick Benjamin up from school on any other day of the week. I totally thought I was on top of things until my phone rang (we hadn't even reached the end of the driveway yet). I pulled it out and answered it and the voice on the other end gave her introductory spill about being so-and-so from the elementary school and then asked if she could speak with Benjamin's mother.
"This is she," I said, quite embarrassed when I realized why she was calling. "And I just remembered that today is early release day so we're already late. We were just leaving the house though, so we'll be there in a couple of minutes."
Zoë and I hopped in the van and drove to the school (for the very first time) to pick him up. We have walked every other day (and she was not happy about giving up her midday stroll) but I felt like we should probably get to the school relatively quickly. The poor boy was sitting in the office waiting to be picked up.
He looked half-relieved, half-annoyed to see us when we finally burst through the doors.
"I'm so sorry, buddy!" I said. "I didn't forget about you! I just..."
"I know, I know," he muttered, rolling his eyes and faintly sighing. "Sometimes parents just forget that it's Monday."
A handful of other disappointed-looking kindergarteners sitting in the office (waiting for their parents to pick them up) gravely nodded their agreement. Apparently the staff had already assured them that their parents definitely love them all; they're just...slightly idiotic. At least, that seemed to be what the takeaway was from whatever they were told. And I'm good with that.
"So, how many kids were in the office with you?" I asked Benjamin on our way to the van.
"Seven...eight...nine. Nine."
"There were nine kids waiting for their parents?!"
"Yup."
At least I'm in good company.
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