First Day of Middle School, or how I am learning to embrace my imperfections.

            My first day of middle school in 1980 went something like this.  My mom pulled up to Jackson Prep in her station wagon, and I got out of the car with a stack full of text books and notebooks in my arms.  (Where was my backpack, I now wonder?) I dropped every book on the sidewalk and turned crimson red as I heard someone say, bless her heart, a phrase that carries many meanings in the South, none of them any good.  For an 11 year old, this felt mortifying and I remember it all of these many, many years later. 

Of course, I wanted something different for Harper on her first day of middle school.  We spent time shopping for the perfect outfit and shoes, tried different hair styles the weekend before, packed a healthy lunch and snack, including a hand written love note.  I made a map for her of her classes, so she would not get lost. I even let her talk me into her wearing a little mascara and a little lipstick.  We were both filled with excitement.  I didn’t sleep at all.  She woke up before six o’clock ready to go.  So far, so good.  We pulled up to her new school and she said, “Where do I go?” My heart sank as I realized that we remembered everything except for that map with her schedule on it.  Her big huge smile turned into tears.  I felt like the worst mom of the year.  Again.   I found a very nice counselor who told Harper she will print out a new schedule for her.  Harper barely looked at me as she walked away into this new world.  Sigh. 

            I hope when she remembers her first day of middle school 20 years from now the first thing that comes to her mind is not the missing schedule and the tears.   I hope she remembers making a new friend and picking a favorite teacher and feeling a little grown up.  I wanted it to be perfect, but I’m reminded that there is no perfect, certainly not in our household.  I’m pretty sure she recovered quickly.  She often surprises me with her maturity.  She is not attending our neighborhood school, but chose an arts magnet school, where we know hardly anyone.  I was lamenting that sad fact last week, when she said this, “Mom, I will make new friends and you will make friends with their moms.”  Wise girl.  Imperfection and disappointments help us become wise.  Here is to being perfectly imperfect!

Update: Harper texted me to let me know she was on the bus home and that she had a great day.  When she got off the bus her bright smile made my heart melt.  I apologized for forgetting her scheduled and map, to which she shrugged and said, “I found everything just fine.”  It was just a blip in her day, not what she remembers most.  I think there is a lesson or two in here for me. 

            Both my girls had imperfect days.  Hannah came home happy and excited about her new teacher, but quickly asked me why I forgot all of her supplies.  What the what? I had them all neatly organized in a Target bag ready to go.  She told me this morning she had everything in her backpack.  Well, in my anxious haste to get Harper squared away at her school, I did not double check the bag.  I even took Hannah to school and stayed 15 minutes in her classroom, confident that this was one part of my morning that went perfectly.  Nope, perfection continues to elude me. One of the blogs that I follow, Redemption Pictures, has a t-shirt for sale that says, "I don’t have my shit together."  Yes! That! I’m 0 for 2 today, but the girls are still smiling.  Now I just need to remember to smile, and most importantly, breathe.