Mom of the year

I'm feeling incredibly guilty right now. I'm fretting away here at my desk, on this very wet, chilly December morning.

First off, it's my husband's birthday. My older two girls will be at their dad's house for the next two nights, so this morning was the only time they had available to celebrate in any way with their stepdad.  But I woke up 25 minutes late. I wasn't out of bed until 7:22; we leave at 8:00 am sharp for the bus stop. This never happens. I always wake up prior to 7:00 am, and even if I don't I have a 2 year old that does. But not today.

The plan for a leisurely breakfast in bed for my husband was foiled, instead it was a frantic: get out of bed, get dressed, get your own cereal, brush your hair!! - kind of morning.

We did manage to throw some sausage, eggs and toast at the man, and to quickly shove two presents into grocery bags and holler "open them." But it was rushed, and stressful (for me anyway), and the whole time I'm barking orders for what still needs to be done before we can get out the door.

And get out the door we must because I have committed to be in the office by 8:30 to let two sets of contractors into our office space to bid on office improvements. It's pouring outside so any thoughts of making up lost time on the road are out.

We should be leaving early to accommodate the wet stuff.

But we don't.

But we do leave on time. And we do even manage to find an umbrella in the girls' room.

"Happy Birthday! Goodbye, goodbye," we cry as we hurry into the wet.

"Out, out, girls!" I command when we arrive. I know there is another umbrella (mine) in the back. "Here, take it." And there they are, just like that, cowering under their respective umbrellas. I take a breath, we did it.

"Mom,  I forgot my jacket!" exclaims the oldest. One look at the other, and yep, I know she has forgotten hers too. For once I'm ecstatic that my girls find it impossible to take into the house what they've earlier brought into the car. I dig around in the front seat and come up with two, warm (their very warmest, in fact) jackets. One for each.

They put them on. They look barely less pathetic under those little umbrellas than they did before. But I have to go.

"You have your phone, right? Call me if you need to. Call me if the bus is late, or if it doesn't show, or if there is any problem."
I drive away. They are not going to melt. It's just a little rain, right? But no other kids are at the bus stop today, and if they do show up, surely their mom or dad will let them sit in the car until the bus actually arrives.

I speed off, I grab my phone in case the bus doesn't come, or they call for some other reason. I see their dad has called twice and texted me. He wants me to relay a message to them. Too late, pal-y.

It's now 9:30 am, school started 25 minutes ago. I gotta assume that the bus arrived, carried them off to school, and they are now sitting in a dry classroom with the rest of their classmates, right?

Right.

But I wish I knew this fact. I texted my girl 3 times. I got nothing back.

I'm sure they're fine.

Yes, surely they are.

That's the logical conclusion.

That's what happened. Yes, it must be.