You Mean He's NOT With You?!?

I did it. That bad mother thing. Even though I always count to three - over and over again. I count after school, at the pool, at the beach, skiing, in the car - always to three to make sure everyone is accounted for... but still...

Tuesday was a crazy day, in so many ways. I played tennis, as usual, with the group of 8-ish that I usually play with, the last game of the season. And we had a luncheon for one of the ladies who is moving back to England. Then after pick-up, I was planning to chop veggies for 35 - Annika's class party that evening, and I had organized a babysitter to take and pick up Christopher from his "graduation dinner" at his dagis. Everything planned, all pieces in place.

Well, the tennis was fun for the first 45 minutes, but then on a deep shot, I ran for the ball and felt that pop in my calf muscle - that muscle that has been bothering me for the past few weeks - and realized that my game/set/match/season was over. (BTW - I got the shot, hit it deep, and scored the point - the bright side of my injury.) So I limped out early, home to get ready for the luncheon. On the way, I stopped by Apoteket for a wrap for my leg, and then took the opportunity to buy a few kilos of veggies for the evening.

The luncheon was lovely, hosted by the wife of the Belgian ambassador, and a sub for our game-of-eight. But long. And I didn't drive, thinking I would help the environment/avoid parking in town. And at 3.45, I started to panic. "I really have to leave - but I can take a cab..." thinking that I only had 30 minutes to make it home and pick up two boys. But of course, as always happens, that first one to break the leaving ice starts the flood, and goodbyes were said among all. In the meantime, I saw that the mom of one of Benjamin's friends had called, so I called her back. "Could Benjamin play?" - Absolutely. Now down to 15 minutes, having only one boy makes all the difference. Then traffic. School finishing parites, trucks full of beer-drinking graduates... chose the wrong street... friend's car almost out of gas... called the dagis... finally home at 4.25. Dash to pick up Christopher, home again, chopping veggies like a madwoman, hobbling around the kitchen with a knife.

And then... 5.05 the phone rings. Answer while still chopping. "Are you going to bring Benjamin over soon?" asks Benjamin's friend's mom. "You mean he isn't already there?" Yes, Benjamin had been left at school, through a huge miscommunication on my part. I had just assumed the mom was still at school when we spoke, but she wasn't, having picked up her child a good 30 minutes previously. Duh. She was on her way by the school anyway, so she picked him up - the last kid there - and explained the miscommunication to the staff.

Benjamin, typically, was completely unphased by the whole thing. In fact, he experienced it as a good day - not only did he (eventually) get to play with his best friend, but he also got an extra strawberry juice at fritids (after-school). So, no harm done, veggies chopped, three kids eventually in place... just a lingering feeling of guilt that I actually let one slip through my fingers.

And it is such a good thing I don't have four...