So last week my daughter was the first one to the bus stop. I knew we were running ahead of schedule (a rare novelty), but I still wondered if maybe school had been cancelled (or was it Saturday?) as my kindergarterner, toddler and I stood by ourselves at the bus stop. No seriously– where was everyone?
Worry turned to amusement as a 3rd-grade-boy approached the bus stop and said “Good job being first, Lucy!” My 5-and-a-half-year-old could barely contain her excitement at being first as she pranced around the bus stop. And honestly, for a little girl who must be coaxed out of bed every morning and dresses herself in slow motion, I myself felt like prancing around in celebration of her feat.
Soon, the rest of the herd arrived and the 3rd-grade-boy began telling each kid where to stand in line (just because Lucy was first to the bus stop did not mean she’d be first on the bus– the 3rd-grader had organized a system to allow each kid a turn to get on the bus first…he’s quite the organizer).
As we heard the squeaky groaning of our giant yellow friend rounding the corner, 3rd-grade-bus-stop-organizer asks, “Lucy, where is your backpack?” Oh gosh. Panic “Mom– it’s by the back door!” Lucy yells. Without missing a beat, I turn to the other moms and say, “I’m running for it!”
I begin sprinting toward the house (take note, VIPs reading this are WINCING because they just KNOW that an injury is about to be had, for rushing + low vision almost always equals an accident). Lucy’s princess bike lay in front of the door inside the garage leading to the house, and even as I trip over it, the pain in my ankle does not fully register because the backpack mission is still underway.
I then hear shouting from the bus stop as I open the door to the house. I hear Lucy yell something that sounds like “I found it!” I feel quickly around the front door, try to scan around the room to see if the backpack is there, and then decide that she must have, indeed, found it since I don’t see it anywhere.
I race back to the corner. All the kids are on the bus waiting, and Lucy is standing there staring at me, asking for the backpack. Apparently she had yelled “hurry”, not “I found it” (yes, I know– those two phrases sound nothing alike….)
Lucy starts to walk back toward the house, unaware that she is about to make 30-40 children late for school, so I turn her back around and tell her it’s too late and that she needs to get on the bus without the backpack. She hangs her head and looks like she is going to cry. I try to think of something–anything–to say that will make her get on the bus. “I’ll drop your backpack off at school!” I blurt out, despite the fact that I had no idea how I would actually get to her school. She slumps onto the bus, and I slump home with Elli, limping on my swollen ankle (this was a week ago, and I STILL have a giant bruise from it!)
Of course, when I walked back into the house, the backpack was sitting right by the garage door, in plain view, taunting me “I-was-right-here-all-along!”
Fortunately, I ended up getting a ride to deliver the backpack from my good friend who took pity on my description of poor Lucy slinking onto the bus. But the stress of the morning– silly as it sounds now– stuck with me throughout the day. Why didn’t I notice that she wasn’t carrying her backpack? I was tempted to get all upset about how RP loves to wreak havoc on my day but then remembered a conversation I had recently with a friend and loyal blog reader.
After reading my last post “Good Grief/Dear RP“, she told me how there were a number of things in my “hate letter” to RP that she finds herself doing, unrelated to vision, and pointed out that some of the incidents I end up feeling embarrassed about are things fully-sighted people do too.
As Jenelle and I talked about this conversation later, she said “Yeah, I have had friends not see props at yoga class or need me to point things out to them that I would have been too self-conscious to ask about, thinking it was because of my vision. I think sometimes we give RP too much….something”. Yes, too much credit or blame. Sure, it does result in a number of accidents that are clearly vision-related. But some mistakes, mishaps and embarrassing incidents are just from being human, and if we are constantly embarrassed, thinking that every little thing that goes wrong is due to RP, I imagine that we could become pretty darn paranoid, not to mention a complete drag to be around.
There are, of course, certain precautions that we VIPs should take. Like using mobility training or asking for assistance. And, clearly, slowing down (but again, this is a lesson that non-VIPs sometimes need to learn as well).
A VIP-friend of mine just told me about how she was rushing the other day and knocked a glass off the counter, cutting her hand in the process. She said that she cried because she was mad at RP and really hates the idea of it slowing her down. I remember telling her that I sometimes feel thankful when it slows me down– when I’m stuck without a ride and have to miss something and stay home instead– it sometimes keeps me sane…. the slowing….. It also allows me to be more aware of my surroundings and to fall in love with the small joys in my day. It reminds me of a line that keeps repeating in a new favorite book I’m reading: “Life is not an emergency.” Truly, it is not, but I often act like it is when I panic over forgotten backpacks.
VIPs and non-VIPs alike– be gentle on yourself today– you’re allowed to make mistakes once in awhile, and to slow down your pace and pay attention to the subtle joys.
(Visited 117 times, 1 visits today)
thanks for being a subtle “joy in my life”!
Oh my. I wondered one day why we were so early to school and quite proud of myself until I realized I’d forgotten to pick up the boy we carpooled every morning! There’s the time Annaliese left her lunch in the back seat of the truck IN PLAIN VIEW that took the teacher to call and let me know Annaliese forgot her lunch. And the chilly day Annaliese came home wearing gym shoes, socks and a jacket all provided by the school’s spare clothing closet–for children of parents like me.
You are certainly not alone in the “I can’t believe I forgot…” or “I can’t believe I didn’t notice…” club. We’re glad to have you! Hope your ankle is better.
Aw– thanks Michelle! 🙂
Thanks Joni– what a fun club to be in! Ha ha