Why I'll never be Mother of the Year

So, I work part-time, right?  It's a nice little gig - I like what I do, I like the people, I get adult time.  But, being part-time, the best part is that I get to spend more time home with the family.

Today was one of my days off.  I had a dentist appointment in the morning, so, after the children were shipped off to school, I went to the dentist.  With sparkling white teeth, I realized I had some time to spare before picking up the little ones from pre-school, so I went to the grocery store.

(Sidenote:  There's nothing better than going to the store (Target, grocery, drug, whatever) without children.  While I love my children (and nieces) to pieces, I barely get out of a store without wringing one of their scrawny little necks. 

"Can I have..."
"NO!")

Anyway, I spent a lovely hour in the store, finally remembering to buy the things we've been out of for weeks now (another reason going to the store with children is an annoyance - you remember to buy nothing on your list, but still spend $100, without fail).

I got to the preschool in time to pick up my 5-year-old and my niece, noticing the parking lot is filled to the brim with cars.  Odd.  The school is attached to a church, so I thought maybe there was a church service today (you know, because today is National Pig in a Blanket Day). 

Happy National Pig in a Blanket Day, by the way.

I went in and noticed all these parents leaving with their kids, talking about how well they sang in the program.

(insert record needle scratching sound effect)

Program?  What program?

Damit. 

You know, very rarely do school events land on one of my days off.  And I almost always have to rearrange my work schedule so I can make it to these events.  Because I love being able to participate in anything that has to do with my kids.  Some might call it suffocating, I call it loving.

And the one day I don't have to do anything to make an event?  I neglect to read the colorful papers the school sent home, notifying the parents of this program and I MISS IT.

Epic.  Fail.

THE WORST PART (you ready?)


My 5-year-old (as we're walking to the car): Mommy, did you see me sing?

Sigh.

Actually, I don't know what's worse.  The fact that I missed it or the fact that he didn't notice I wasn't there? 

I should've lied.  If he didn't notice, why ruin it for him? 

Hopefully, this doesn't cause permanent damage to his psyche.

I figure if I give him enough Oreos for dessert, he won't even remember his name.

The Mother of the Year people are calling the authorities as we speak.