Forgetting

Just before David left the house for his last first-day-of-school (seniors rule-woohoo!), he asked me if I was going to take a first-day-of-school picture. I had sort of forgotten about it in the morning preparations (Mom, do you have a notebook I could take to school? Oh, yeah, I guess I need a pencil, too.) but I was only too happy to be reminded. Sometimes this sixth child of mine gets the short end of the stick when it comes to mothering. I tend to forget to do the little rituals that were so prevalent with my earlier children. So here he is in his last first-day-of-school photo (I WON'T be following him to college.)After he left, I reflected that for the last 28 years I had had children leaving the house excitedly anticipating their first day of school and this was going to be my last. It was kind of a sad thought... and then the phone rang. It was David. It was obvious that he had arrived at school, I could hear screeching and yelling as a whole campus of high school kids converged. The sound over the phone was deafening. "Mom, I forgot my schedule! It's on my bedroom floor. Could you get it and read off my subjects and classroom numbers?" Ummm.... yeah. How old are you? I attribute my forgetfulness to age, but perhaps he's inherited it. So I jumped on my bike and met up with 5 other ladies and rode 48 miles. To forget my irritation.