Horseshoes and Hand Grenades

One of my favorite maxims to apply to life is “Close only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades.” Why? Because it’s so damn true.


Case in point. The other day Bruce and a friend are playing the Wii. The Wii remote is not secure on the child’s hand and it goes flying across the room, missing our new television by a fraction of an inch and landing behind it. Husband is furious. The “Big TV” as he calls it almost met it its demise. My response: “Horseshoes and hand grenades!” In other words near misses don’t count. That’s so awesome for parents, isn’t it?

Fast forward to today. I teach my exercise class, come home and take a shower. By what I know is purely the grace of God, the baby goes to sleep IN HIS BED! Instead of drying my hair, etc., I decide to take this new found 15 minutes and check the internet. It’s approximately 12:50 PM. I’m hoping to find that either A) Charlie Sheen has announced that he is running for President, or B) That Charlie Sheen and “The Goddesses” were found dead in an apparent overdose of their new favorite drug – “Charlie Sheen.” Not finding any news like this, I notice the house phone ringing down stairs. I don’t answer it. If you want to talk to me, you have me cell number. Then my cell phone rings. I run downstairs to find a voicemail. It’s Bruce’s school. Today was early dismissal. They got out at 12:30!!!! !@#$!!!! #$%&%!!!@$#

In my defense this was sent home
yesterday - when Bruce was absent. 
Notice the highlight. 
The teacher did that...

Mortified by my mistake, I put on shoes, grab my keys and purse and run out the door. I try to reckon how this could have happened. I have all these dates saved in my phone. I call the school and let them know I’m coming and I speed away. Knowing that this will for sure affect my standings in the “mother of the year” contest, I drive even faster. I get to the end of my subdivision and it hits me. Wait for it. Wait for it. I FORGOT THE BABY!!!! I LEFT HIM AT HOME…ALONE!!! I scream aloud and turn around. And I thought I was mortified before. Suicide seems like a viable option here.

I run in the house and snatch a half sleeping baby from his bed, throw him in the car seat and off we go. The school is practically deserted when I arrive. I run in (with the baby) wet hair, no makeup and unmatching shoes.

Now I’ve never done the so called “walk of shame” out of a man’s house after a one night stand. But after this “walk of shame” I know what that must feel like. Bruce asks me what took me so long. I answer, “Uh, well… You see…. There was a thing and another thing… and, uh.. I.” He asks again and I say, “I forgot OK!!!! But I’m really, really sorry!”

To use “horseshoes and hand grenades” as my gauge: I had a complete miss and a near miss. Perhaps that evens out. Maybe my campaign for mother if the year isn’t over just yet. In the meantime I’ll be in the closet flagellating myself with the cell phone and didn’t remind me about today….

Please have a laugh at my expense.  Someone should!