The last time I felt this stupid was when I was in high school. My mom and I were part of a team of runners bringing the torch for the Pan Am Games to the lakefront park in Michigan City. I was running along with mom and people were cheering us on. In the crowds lining the street I saw a cheerleader I knew who was a senior. She was so pretty and cool. Her hand was outstretched and as I ran by I gave her a high five. I felt unbelievably cool for about three minutes. After that I felt like an interminable dork and to this day the whole episode makes me cringe even though probably no one but me noticed it.
Today I feel stupid because I hit the wall. Mentally, that is. We’ve been keeping a rabid pace for weeks. Softball. T-ball. Girls on The Run. Dance on Monday. Dance on Wednesday. Speech therapy and a flurry of quarterly doctors appointments for Anne. Work has been busy for both me and Chad. Grandma J is back to work too. We live by the calendar and I am constantly revising and updating. Some days I don’t even want to look at it because there is not a single white space on it (at least there wasn’t in the month of May).
I thought I was in the home stretch and I had today all planned out. Take the day off work. (Again. But that’s another story.) Take all three girls to Anne’s speech therapy appointment in South Bend, about 50 minutes away. After the appointment drive Anne to daycare, 50 minutes in the other direction, and then back to the high school where the dance rehearsal is taking place, yet another 40 minutes in yet another direction. It’s a lot of driving, but I had it all figured out.
Then the girls said they wanted to get there early to watch the competitive troupe do their solos.
I figured we could still do it.
Then Grandma J started asking me how I was going to do.
And I didn’t know. I got confused. I started thinking there is no way to pull all of this off. My brain went into high gear. I looked at the clock and realized there was no way to make it all work. I changed Anne’s appointment and calmed down. Okay, that’s one less thing to do. I headed to the kitchen to make Anne her late morning snack. And then I started looking at the clock again and thinking about the multi-page instructional sheet that had come home from the dance school.
The solos start at noon.
Be there by noon or the doors will be closed and you’ll have to wait until 1:30 to come in.
Holy crap we’ve got an hour and a half to get Anne to daycare, do ballet buns, load the car, grab some lunch and get there.
Grandma took the baby. I did the buns (yay! They turned out okay!). I loaded the car with two sets of costumes, two bags of shoes, my computer and work files, a tote bag full of hair supplies and a little cooler of contraband water. We piled in the car, swooped through Mickey Ds and Subway, and headed for the school. When we got there I couldn’t figure out where the entrance was for the auditorium. We drove to the other side of the building with about four minutes to spare.
B grabbed the costume bags, I grabbed the hair supply bag, Grandma (who had traveled more than 30 miles back up I-94 to meet us there) grabbed her purse and we all headed in.
No one was there.
Well, that’s not true. The stage crew was there working on lights and sets.
But no one else was there.
For a moment I had a terrifying thought that I had somehow gotten the whole entire weekend wrong.
But no. No, instead I read the instructions for recital day and translated them in my head as the instructions for rehearsal day.
A couple of text messages and a phone call later I discovered that we were two and a half hours early to watch the solos. Three and a half hours early if you’re going by the actual time Grace and Lauren were supposed to be there.
I felt so stupid. Totally embarrassed. And defeated by my overtaxed brain and over-packed schedule. I felt a little bit like I was going crazy because I could not for the life of me recall seeing on the instruction sheet the time we were supposed to be there.
Truth be told I’ve been a little confused about the rehearsal schedule all week. I’m not alone because I’ve gotten a call from another mom who was also confused. Thank god it turns out I told her the right thing. But somehow I didn’t tell myself the right thing. And what’s worse, I had Grandma, B, Grace and Lauren rushing around to get there.
I’m at home now, killing an hour or so before we head back. I’m not gonna lie, it’s kind of nice just to kill some time. But I regret that Annie missed her speech therapy appointment and I’m still feeling pretty stupid. In my defense I will say this: I closely reviewed the rehearsal instructions after we got back home, and NOWHERE did it say what time we were actually supposed to be there today. There was plenty of information about the day of the actual recital, and I guess this is where I got confused.
But I can’t decide if I’m feeling dumb for just making a mistake, or irritated that my whole plan – which had been carefully thought through over the past week – was so fragile that I completely lost track of it when someone asked me a question. I mean, seriously, I actually had it worked out correctly. Then Grandma J asks me a question and my brain just goes spasmodic, and the whole thing goes haywire.
Of course, being a mom of girls who can be a little dramatic now and then, I felt it was important to not LOOK like I felt totally stupid and defeated. Actually, I guess I thought it was okay to look like I felt that way, but also important to demonstrate that making a mistake is okay and you can laugh about it. So I pointed out that if we were going to get the schedule totally wrong at least we were super early instead of super late. Which is true. But still totally irritating.
The good news is that I’ll be able to forget about this whole incident in a hurry because next week presents its own unique schedule and demands, and there is no more room in my head for stewing over things that make me feel dumb. Who knows? I might even forget about the dorky high five I gave back in 1987.