Hello! My name is Susan and I am a Terrible Mother.

One morning recently, Henry got distracted while he was getting dressed for school and just forgot to get dressed! Well, not entirely–he put on his t-shirt and then apparently saw something shiny on the floor, because when we got ready to leave for school (an hour later) I realized that he was still wearing his pajama shorts and the socks he had slept in (which come up to his knees–because he pulls them ALL THE WAY UP he is only allowed to wear ankle socks with shorts. Go ahead, tell me how mean that is–not NEARLY as mean as kids at school making fun of him for his knee socks, trust me). Where was I for that hour, you ask? I was loading the dishwasher and folding some laundry and maybe checking my e-mail. GETTING THINGS DONE, people! Come on, why else is Sesame Street on in the mornings? So parents can GET THINGS DONE.

Okay, so ever since then, I’ve been laughing about the boy forgetting to get dressed, because it really is funny and I am mean that way. But after today, I’m not really laughing.

No, no one left my house in their underwear. Worse! I completely forgot that Henry’s class was going on a FIELD TRIP. To see some Clydesdale horses. Which are REALLY BIG. And horse-like. Have I mentioned Henry’s fear of dogs? And all animals larger than Charlie? Yes! And I sent my kid to school to see the horses without ANY advance warning or preparation or even a LUNCH. I suck.

It went down like this: I left to go meet with our psychologist and my parents took H to school. Halfway through my appointment, my cell phone rang; I looked at the caller ID to be sure it wasn’t one of the boys’ schools calling to say OH MY GOD HE BROKE HIS ARM and instead it was my mother, who was calling to say, “Did you know that Henry’s class was going on a field trip?” And I said, “Ummm, no? Ummm, where did they go? Well, okay! See you soon!”

Ironically, when my phone rang, I was talking to the psychologist about how Henry has a hard time with unexpected transitions. Ha ha ha.

Fortunately, my parents were totally on the ball; rather than just tossing Henry out of the car in front of his school, they stopped to tell the teacher that they would be picking him up for lunch, and when she said, “But we have a field trip! And he needs a lunch!” they went back to my house and MADE HIM A LUNCH and took it back to his school. And then resisted what MUST have been a nearly overwhelming urge to mock me for being such a space case (to my face, at least; I have no idea what they were saying in the hour before I met up with them. If they are anything like Wade and me, they were laughing hysterically about my maternal suckage. As they should have been! Because I suck).

On Monday, we met with the pediatric neurodevelopmental consultant, who told us that he doesn’t believe that ADHD is a chemical imbalance; instead, he says, it is a combination of genetic factors. Charlie got my blue eyes and predisposition for strep throat. Henry got my propensity to be distracted by

Oooh, look, J. Crew has new espadrilles!