Pulling into the school this morning, I see two long yellow busses at the front curb of the building. There they sit, an instant reminder that my middlemost is going on a field trip today. And I say to him, “look there are busses, I think you are going on a field trip today!” He says to me, “No, I’m not going, I didn’t have a paper.” My heart sinks and I think I am about to burst into tears. He didn’t have a paper. He wasn’t signed up to go, because his failure of a mother didn’t fill out the paperwork and return it.
My mind is racing with how could I let this happen? Why didn’t I question the newsletter reminder last week further? Or how come I didn’t look for more papers? What was I thinking? I had read, Make sure your field trip slips are turned in by the 25th, or your child will not be able to go along on our field trip May 29th, at the bottom of the class newsletter over a week ago. And I thought, did I turn that in? I must have turned that in because this doesn’t seem like news to me. I quickly looked through the rest of the folder with the newsletter, no permission slip there. I went to the stack on the counter of miscellaneous – might be important – papers, no permission slip there.

Now, one would think I would remember signing such a thing and would add it to my mental schedule of upcoming events…or on a good day to the physical schedule of events…but this is the last week of May. We have seven kids, six of them in school – five different schools – and I have signed what feels like 30 permission slips in the last month. Everyone is going everywhere all the time! It is nearly impossible to keep track of all the excitement.

After not finding the slip, I decided I must have signed and returned it. I let the concern flutter into the wind of running kids to and from school, season ending soccer games, and spring band concerts consuming our last week. I halfway convinced myself the teacher would email me or send another slip home if I was indeed remiss, after all – its kindergarten – I am sure lots of kids forget there are important papers to be signed and returned in their backpacks.

Maybe not.

And no such reminders came.

Fail.

I sat there imagining charging into the front office, begging them to allow me to do a last minute slip. Knowing that was a rule they likely wouldn’t break and that it would be an embarrassment I wasn’t sure I could handle. I would cry, I would be dragging a bossy, wild toddler along…it would be a scene. A scene I could not imagine myself enduring, and looking back I wish I could have, could have at least tried.

I felt as though I truly was the worst mom ever. My kindergartner was going to spend the day missing out, because I was not organized or observant enough to make sure he was included. I was impaired by my ridiculous anxiety and didn’t just reach out to the teacher when I wasn’t sure. I allowed the fear of being wrong cripple me from ensuring I wasn’t. Anxiety is irrational fear. The mere thought of something can completely derail you. It overwhelms you to the point where you put your head in the sand and just avoid it…until that is no longer an option. I really try not to let those overwhelming moments affect my kids. I try not to allow myself to hole up when it concerns their well being. Sadly, I don’t always succeed.

What I see in the back of my twelve passenger van, as I am berating myself for my epic failure, is a happy little boy putting on his back pack heading off to school. His eyes are a little tired from an active, busy weekend, but his smile shines his big heart. He is not mad at me, disappointed, or even upset. He doesn’t mind that he isn’t going on the field trip and he doesn’t think I did anything wrong. You see, he has anxiety too. This day where he just goes to school, is a relief for him. There won’t be any questions about where he is going, how he will get there, when he will get back. I can now see this is actually a great comfort to him. He is the only one of our children that would not overreact in this situation. I have been blessed to have learned my lesson with such a forgiving little heart on the other end of it. Everyday, I thank God for giving me a child whose perspective makes me see the world differently. He is a child of challenge, but also a child of grace.

I wish I could say I had this epiphany and it was all better from there, but I still drive away feeling defeated and frustrated with myself. How could I not? My mind is telling me its me who is supposed to show him that these are the things to care about, that change is good, and field trips are exciting.

Instead I am heading over to the gym hoping to clear the cloud out of my mind. Once parked, I call my husband to cry. He allows me to be upset and sad, he understands. He also tells me it will be ok, and that he will be ok. He doesn’t patronize or berate me. He is patient and kind. He knows I have made myself feel much worse than necessary already.

I give the bossy toddler all my mints, because I am powerless against him at the moment, and then take him into the gym daycare where he is received like the prince that he is. (haha) They love him there, and they don’t ask me if I am ok…I surely had tears somewhere…so that is a relief.

I haul my emotionally battered self onto the treadmill for a quick run before my body combat class. Turn up the worship music in my headphones and crank up the speed. I run hard. As I am rounding into the final quarter of my mile, the last song in my shuffle comes on, Lord, I Need You. I find myself running, hands open and palms up…just a little, I don’t want to be too weird…and I think, I do need you Lord. I need you always. When I am wondering how life is so good, and when I am deciding I can’t do anything right. When I look anxiety in the face everyday and function in spite of it all, Lord, I need you. I need you when I am learning the hard lessons. I need you when your forgiveness is more attainable than my own. I am grateful for the people you have placed in my life, for the time you have given to me, and that you have not given up on refining me. This isn’t the first time I have failed at parenting and it will not be the last time I will fail, of that I am sure. But failure is how we learn and God is gracious. He gave me a son who is forgiving, and a husband who is patient, and an outlet for my frustration.

Recognizing his grace is anxiety relief…much needed relief.