Dropping the Ball

Sometimes we try really hard not to drop the ball and therefore end up…dropping the ball.

I was rocking the day, multitasking (poor choice apparently) and even taking down tasks I didn’t think I could have time to do today.

I endured extra guff from my boys because I managed to squeeze haircuts in for all three right after school, but I had snacks and activities at the ready and happily tossed these to them as only a proud, “I can do it all and then some,” person can do.

Then I rolled up to our home with three freshly trimmed boys and spotted a car parked in front of our home.

Did the husband invite his boss over?

I knew his boss flew in for a quick day trip but maybe he swung by our new home for a quick tour?

As we pulled closer into the driveway I ticked through other possibilities. The car didn’t belong to any family members or friends…

I decided to prepare for the boss.

The boys raced inside after I parked and dropped boots and coats and backpacks and I followed slowly after.

Only when I saw her did it click.

I forgot.

A meeting we’d scheduled over a month ago with a designer. Our home might enjoy a gentle refresh and we asked her to come in and offer advice and plans.

I’d forgotten. And I was an hour late.

My husband can manage just fine with house stuff, especially in terms of design, but still, it was the simple fact I knew I was rocking it when I actually wasn’t that hit me.

Like when I was certain the first child I was carrying was most definitely a girl and he absolutely is a boy.

Or the time I was clear on the route to a destination my sister and I were heading too and instead we reached the end of a bus route and were told there was no looping around.

It’s nice to be right, to rock it, soar high on a cloud of, “we have got it all together!”

And humbling to recognize that, in the end, we are human. Doing the best we can and stumbling along the way.