Friday, July 26, 2013
I'm losing my mind. Also, Banner's teachers are saints.
Y’all. It has finally happened. I’ve gone insane.
(I know, I know. Business as usual.)
For some reason, I am completely convinced I am going to accidentally leave Banner in a hot car. On days that I take him to school, I will sometimes walk BACK out to my car an hour or so after arriving at work just to make sure he isn’t there. Even though I vividly remember dropping him off at day care. I can replay conversations I had with his teachers and other parents in my mind, visualize what his classmates were wearing – everything. But I still have to go back outside and check. Because part of me is terrified he is slowly cooking to death trapped in his car seat inside my car. And, well, let’s just say I’d never forgive myself. Just imagining this scenario makes me tear up.
The thing is, I understand how easy it would be to forget. Mornings are so hectic for us. Waking up, picking up after the dogs, getting everyone (two and four legged) fed and ready for the day, remembering that school needs more wipes or diapers or that, OMG, it is SPLASH DAY at school and I completely forgot to pack a swim diaper, towel and swim trunks. Regardless of how early I wake up, I’m almost always still running late. Half the time, I find myself calling my neighbor to ask if I closed the garage door because I can’t honestly remember if I hit that button or not while backing out of my driveway. And that was only two minutes ago. By the time I drop Banner off at school and get to work, I need a nap and it is only 9 AM. Never mind those days when our routine is changed at the last minute, or if Trev ends up taking Banner to school on my day (or vice versa). And Banner doesn’t help matters, either. Like his mama, the little guy is generally pretty quiet and subdued in the morning. Half the time I think he goes back to sleep during our fifteen minute commute from home to day care. It helps that Banner’s school is in the complete opposite direction from my office, because at least I don’t have to worry about going on auto-pilot as long as I am heading northwest instead of southeast. But Trevor? He has admitted to overshooting the exit to Banner’s school. He has always remembered, and circled back around. But, still. Scary, right?
Of course, isn’t always possible for me to go back outside to check my car, so I’ve also been known to call school just to confirm what I already know: THAT BANNER IS THERE AND NOT IN MY CAR. Except it sounds crazy to call when I rationally know that I just dropped him off. So half the time I find myself completely distracted in morning meetings or on conference calls as I try to invent some new reason why I’m going to calling school (yet again) today. It was great the week he had his 18 month shots, because I’d just ring to remind his teachers that it was completely okay to give him Tylenol if he needed it (by Friday, they were both like, “Yeah. We know. Tylenol. We got it”). But the rest of the time, I’m just making sh*t up so I can focus and get back to work.
And I get that it is a million times better to be safe than sorry, but I KNOW I DROPPED HIM OFF! I REMEMBER IT. Still, that pesky little voice inside my head keeps suggesting otherwise. It is awful.
(Told you I am losing it.)
Still, on the bright side, calling school randomly to check to make sure I really DID drop Banner off (as opposed to simply dreaming that I did) DOES have its perks.
Case in point: A couple of weeks ago I called, and Natasha answered. She had to yell because it sounded like every kid in the class was crying hysterically.
Me: “Hi, Natasha. It is Banner’s mom. I was just calling to check to see if I, uh, remembered to put Banner’s shoes on this morning.”
Natasha: “Yep. He is wearing shoes.”
Me: “Oh, good.”
Natasha: “So, uh…is that all?”
Me: “Oh, yeah. I just couldn’t remember and it was bothering me. I’d hate to be THAT mom that forgot to put shoes on her baby.”
“So…uh, what’s going on? Is everything okay?”
Natasha: “Yeah. Everything is fine. Why?”
Me: “Well, it sounds like everyone is crying.”
Natasha: “Oh, no. They aren’t crying. They are having a yelling contest. They are all screaming ‘AHHHHHH’ as loud as they can.”
Me: “Sounds dreadful. Is Banner participating?”
Natasha: “Yeah. He started it. He is the loudest one.”
That’s my boy.