letting down my daughter…. one mothers parental shame…

To my eldest girl,

When you were born I held you like china, terrified you would break but at the same time fiercely aware that I would rip skin from bone of anyone who tried to harm you.

I swore to you, as I have to all my children, that I would do my best as a parent, I would try my hardest and I would never let you down.
I balls up the last one today.

We have known about your dance audition for weeks and I really do know how important it is to you.  But in my defense we have had a busy September.  By the skin of my teeth and with help from the teacher I remembered to order your costume at the eleventh hour but I failed you on successfully getting a basket full of sodding fake flowers.

Before bed last night you earnestly held my hands in yours and made me promise to remember.  And God help me I gave you my word, and you have to believe me at the time I meant it.  Kind of like when your brother promises to remember to wipe his backside properly; good intentions and all but still I see brown on white pants on laundry day…

I came to collect you from school and you ran to me eyes wide with excitement and you called “can I see the flowers mummy, can I?”

Bollocks…

I even went to the sodding shop but was distracted by cushions and throws for the new house.  I even walked past the basket aisle and physically removed one from BB’s hands as she tried to shoplift something made of wicker.  I see now she was stealing for you, a criminal born out of love.

You saw straight away that I had failed as a mother and criticism filled your face tinged with a blush of disappointment.
A hefty dose of mothers guilt kicked me in the guts.

So I have tried to earn your forgiveness, I have tried to make it right!

I drove you to dance and then drove at a speed not liked by policemen to the nearest craft shop.  I had thirty minutes to win back the title of mummy.

I ran in like a woman possessed and then stopped dead like I had been shot.

Craft shops are scary places…

They are like other shops but with nothing put together, like a dress shop that forgot to sew the clothes or an art gallery with only white canvasses.

I was out of my depth…

Like a rabbit in the headlights I ran around the store sending pom poms and pipe cleaners flying.

BB scored a basket, I found some flowers and an odd green thing to stick them in.  Happy and feeling like super mum we went to pay for our prizes.

“That will be £25.99” said the creative soul behind the counter.

Holy moly.

Feeling the strain of my bank account I started stripping down the bouquet to its bare minimum.

“We don’t need leaves” I said “can get them for free in the woods.”

BB solemnly dropped the leaves to the floor mimicking “don’t need, don’t need.”

“The lilies can go, funeral flowers really,” I stammered to the bemused checkout girl.

“Erm, how much is this?”.

I handed back the sparse basket, with odd green thing and five lonely cotton roses…

“Ten pounds.”

Sadly I parted with the cash, trying to remember the last time I was bought flowers…

Then BB and I were back on it, chasing through rush hour we drove like demons to the dance class, at every red light I stuck a flower in hoping my hidden creative goddess would shine through in the decoration.

It didn’t…

When I arrived at class I held a basket that looked like it contained five fake flowers and a green thing.

I walked slowly to class, worried you would despise me more.  Around you your class mates stood with basket arrangements that could adorn a royal wedding.  You saw me through the window and your smile lit up the world.

You dashed through the doors and launched at my minimalist display of floristry.

“Aw mum, its perfect, you are the best ever, I love you.”

Christ I love you kiddo.

From your will try harder next time mummy.