November 24, 2015

Colonial Day or Bust

November 24, 2015
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Colonial Day.  An opportunity to let my "I've got it together, mom of the year" side shine came bursting out of my child's Thursday Folder.  Details, details, details.  I love details.  But there was one particular detail that etched itself in my mushy brain.  Tuesday.  Tuesday was the day my child needed to go to school dressed in colonial attire.  

Tuesday.  Check.  I got it.  The costume search my head.  Somewhere deep down in my mushy brain memory I remembered seeing a social media post.  My friend snapped a picture of her son wearing the perfect colonial shirt and I was going to track her down and get THAT shirt.  I "text stalked" her and declared I needed that shirt for TUESDAY.  

With Colonial Day on my brain I got the shirt from my friend, starched and ironed it.  Sign Up Genius haunted my email asking for items to help make the Colonial Day Fair as realistic as ever.  I confidently checked the boxes asking for wash bins and firewood and delegated the task to Big Dog.  Problem: it had been raining and our stock of firewood was wet.  Solution: go to the grocery store and buy dry firewood (because who sends their kid to school with wet firewood?) and get it to school ASAP.  

Tuesday arrived and it was time to dress my ever NOT willing eleven year old in his colonial attire.

Mason:  "Mom, it's not this Tuesday.  It's next Tuesday.  I'm NOT wearing this!"

Me:  "You WILL wear this and tall white soccer socks with your black gym pants stuffed in them cutting off your circulation around the knee and like it!"  

Mason:  "But mooooooom!  It's not today.  You don't know what you're doing."

Me:  "I am your mother.  I do know what I'm doing.  Today is Tuesday, AKA: Colonial Day at school.  You look great!  Now, off to school with you."

Mason:  "MoooooooooM!"  

Me:  "Go!!!  Bu-bye!"

Nike pants and Converse shoes are totally colonial, right?  And that hat.  I should have been a costume designer.
Twenty minutes rings...

Mason:  "Mom.  Today IS NOT Colonial Day.  It's next Tuesday.  Why did you force me to wear this?  I'm so embarrassed.  Why did you do this to me?"  

Me:  .....crickets....  "But it's Tuesday.  The paper said Tuesday.  Today is Tuesday."  

I do a quick search and rescue for the Colonial Day flyer to prove that I am completely sane and know exactly what I am talking about because I am the mom and I am always right.  Wrong.  

Me:  "Oh Mason.  You're right.  It is next Tuesday.  I was sure it was this Tuesday."

My tail tucked, my head fell, and shame and guilt punched me in the stomach.  My child just walked into a sea of school children dressed in colonial attire that I had "forced" him to wear.  I could feel his humiliation through the phone.  

Forgiveness.  Oh, would he EVER forgive me?  Of all five kids for this to happen to! This child deals with teasing and feelings of inferiority enough as it is and I just magnified it. 

Me:  "Mason, I am so sorry.  I messed up.  I hope you can forgive me."

Mason:  "It's okay, mom.  Bye."  

So, there you have it.  My "Mom of the Year" resume just grew a little longer.  Oh, and I had to make the  frantic "abort mission" call to Big Dog who was kindly obeying orders to get firewood.  I muttered the words, "It's next Tuesday.  You don't need to get the firewood today." and hoped he too would forgive me for my hasty, know it all, orders.  

**I'd like to give a shout out to Mason's teacher.  She was quick to react with sheer genius consolation.  She convinced Mason that everyone was so glad he came to school a week early dressed in his colonial costume because now all the children knew what to wear.  She totally helped him play it off as though he was doing everyone a favor by modeling the perfect and idealistic colonial attire.  Teachers like her make the overly tired and stressed mommas' world go round.**