Yesterday, I returned home from school to see a sullen-faced Jakob waiting for me on the porch.
“Um, Mom? Did you forget something today?”
I was puzzled. “I don’t think so.”
He gave me a disgusted look, shook his little knobby head sadly, and said, “You were supposed to send in a pie for our Thanksgiving feast!”
What?!?! The horror!!! I had committed the cardinal mommy sin of class party neglect and forever ruined Thanksgiving for twenty of the cutest little first graders on the planet. HOW COULD I HAVE FORGOTTEN SOMETHING SO IMPORTANT?
“Did other moms send in pies?” I asked.
“Yes, but there were only two little ones and we didn’t get very much.” His tiny arms were wrapped sadly around his tummy, trying to quell the pie-deprivation-induced hunger pains that he was surely feeling.
I felt terrible. I imagined the disappointment Jakob’s classmates must have felt as their happy feast was reduced to a sad little sample session, and all because of my irresponsibility.
I had to get to the bottom of this. Why had I not remembered to send in a pie?
“Did your teacher send home a note about this?”
“Yeesss! I showed you!” he wailed.
I began frantically searching through my papers for the note.
I couldn’t find it.
“Was it an email?”
“Nooooo! It was a note! I SHOWED YOU!”
I searched through my inbox, just in case.
No emails. Not even in my spam folder.
Did I write something about pies on my calendar? Was in my room parent handbook?
“Did your teacher ask you where your pie was?”
“No, she wouldn’t even talk to me.”
Oh, the SHAME!!!
I was a failure as a mother.
Jakob spent the rest of the evening whimpering about his lack of pie.
Last night I couldn’t sleep. Never in my wildest dreams did I ever imagine I could be so neglectful. I was haunted by the faces of all of those sweet little six-year-olds whose feast had been ruined by my blondeness. I began making plans to transfer my children to a new school, where we would all be given a fresh start and I wouldn’t be forever known as “The Mom Who Forgets Pies.”
Today, I ran into a neighbor who is also a room mother in Jacob’s class. I swallowed my embarrassment and began apologizing for ruining her child’s Thanksgiving.
She looked at me like I was crazy.
Here is what really happened:
I was not supposed to send in a pie.
There had never been a note. Or an email.
There were FOUR Costco-sized pies and two regular-sized pies. For twenty miniature-sized people. They could have eaten pie for the rest of the month if they had wanted to.
Jakob very much enjoyed the GIANT piece of pie he had been given.
I hope that he really enjoyed it, because I am seriously considering not giving him any pie for Thanksgiving. That’ll teach him. Right up until I see his cute little pouty face and totally give in.
In other news, Elisabeth did this:
Yup. A self-induced mullet.
She remains unfazed by the loss of her long, platinum locks.
But it’s been almost two weeks, and I still want to cry every time I see her.