Smoothing the Edges

As a mother of many, I feel as if I must constantly prove that I can "handle it". The last thing in the world I want is for someone to look at me and think it is irresponsible of me to have so many kids because I am doing such a poor job of caring for them.

As far as character flaws go, this might be my worst (though by no means not my only) one. Of course, God knows this. Therefore, in what I'm sure is a loving attempt to rid me of this flaw, He often sends me opportunities to work on my pride. And, boy, did He send me a doozy today.

Julia started a new gymnastics school this afternoon. Although I loved her old one and felt very comfortable and welcome there, she had become bored with her class, which moved more slowly than she would have liked. Therefore, I brought her to a new, reputedly more fast paced, gym where she could be more challenged and go more times per week.

Knowing that this was a more "serious" gym, I prepped the kids before our first visit. I wasn't sure what it would be like and I didn't want to show up like the Beverly Hillbillies. So, I made sure everyone knew what was expected, I wiped off faces, found clean clothes and gave out a general list of acceptable behaviors.

At the gym, all went fairly well. Aside from Tony falling off the low bleacher in the first 5 minutes and ending up with a lump the size of Omaha on the back of his head, we blended in pretty well. The owner was very welcoming and I felt immediately comfortable. This was not to last long, however.

At the end of class, I gave Julia her shoes, gathered up Tony and Isabella, counted heads and went out the door to the car. I loaded the kids, paused to search for someone's missing shoes, changed someone, and altogether spent somewhere around 10 minutes getting settled. Just as I sat down and buckled myself in, I saw the owner coming toward the car with a sobbing Julia. She explained that Julia had been left inside, didn't know where I was, and had been sitting on her lap crying for the 10 minutes I had been settling in the car.

Unbelievably, I had not even noticed that Julia was not with us.

In my defense (if there is any defense at all for this), I had not left the parking lot, and I am sure that I would have noticed she were missing before I drove off. I always take a mental inventory of the children when I leave somewhere, and I'm sure I would have done so this time as well. But I never got the chance because she found me first.

The owner, previously so friendly and welcoming, was cold now. I felt not only terrible for Julia, whom I had frightened, but, selfishly, for myself as well. This lady, who had only just met me, was judging my parenting ability and I came up way, way short. Here I was, hoping to make a good impression and establish a long, solid relationship with a new gym. Instead, I left the owner incredulous that someone could actually be such a horrible parent. How totally humiliating.

I am dreading the next class. Should I explain myself? Hide behind oversized sunglasses? Go in with my head held high? Retreat to our old gym with my tail between my legs?

Whatever I decide to do, my pride has certainly been beaten back a bit. A few dozen more episodes like this one and perhaps I will be cured of my terrible affliction. And, hopefully, I won't actually lose one of the children in process.