Musing on an almost Monumental Momfail. Senior Night for Football @MorganCoHS

Musing on an almost Monumental Momfail. Senior Night for Football @MorganCoHS

I try.

The motto of every good mom.

I try to remember the parent teacher conferences, the reading to my child every night, the throwing open  of my house to their friends with chocolate-chip cookies toasting in the oven.

But I fall short. Lots. I just pray it’s not on the stuff that matters. Guess we’ll really never know what stuff was the big stuff till they are accepting the Academy Award saying how their mother forgot to show up the day their class went to the zoo. Oops.

(That wasn’t true. But a few parent teacher conferences might have slipped through when in the throes of training for my midlife triathlon crisis.)

*     *     *

Last Friday night was the night that all moms, dads and significant persons in the lives of senior band members, football players and cheerleaders were to escort them on the field.

I was told to be there at 7 p.m.

At 6 p.m. get a call from husband that there is no way he will be there. The interstates around Atlanta are a parking lot.

I remember I have no car. My car was with senior son at already football field.

Place a call to dear in-laws. They will pick us up and have us there.

Fine.

*      *      *

7:05 p.m.

I get out of my in-laws’ car in parking lot.

I hear overhead announcer. You know — one of those great booming voices that carry out across a two-square mile radius from stadium.

I think…that sounds like names. Yes, those definitely were names.

I start to run with children in tow.

I blow pass A.D. Coach Cisson manning the gates as I ask, “Are they already on the field?”

He shakes his head “yes.”

Cr*p.

It was one of those moments I didn’t care the fool I looked like sprinting across the field to my son. I just wanted to make it. I dropped my purse and camera at the edge of the field.

What follows is my 10 year olds photo essay of the next 10 minutes after my sprint to my oldest son.

We are out there somewhere.

I made it.

 A child she knew. I hope this was a child I knew.

Child Number 3. Who knows where his mother is?

As the parents are making the tunnel for the players to run through onto the field — I get the camera.

Dad arrives.

Then I look up to Number 46 carrying the flag.

How did he get so big? Especially with a mom that has to sprint to be at his side.

It was a great night all around.

And so many dear friends took pictures with their cameras.

I think he still cares. Though all he asks me is “What’s for dinner” and “Mommy, will you make me some Gatorade?”

Have you ever almost missed out on a parent-better-be-there-moment?