maybe not a thousand words, but certainly $22.00

i expect my doorbell to be ringing any moment now.  i envision a crew on the doorstep, much like those publisher's clearing house people, holding in their arms a big certificate with my name emblazoned on top.  or maybe it will be a trophy?  or a medal to hang around my neck, perhaps.  but no matter the type, it will certainly say the following: Worst Mother of the Year, 2011.  and yes, i realize that 2011 isn't even over yet.  but i'm such a shoo-in for the winner that they certainly have ceased even accepting applications.

but i'm giving you the ending of the story before even explaining my transgressions.  so let me back up and describe my evening last night.

five minutes after putting the kids to bed, i was downstairs and looked up to find liam standing next to me, crying.  he started talking about something that was clearly so upsetting to him that i had trouble even understanding what he was saying ... something about kids and pictures.  seeing him this way, i picked up his little pajama-clad body and held him in my lap, grateful that he still allows me to do this, while at the same time angry at whomever had caused him to be in this state that necessitated my comfort in the first place. i'm going to kill whoever did this to him, i resolved, my parenting defensive mode on high alert.  no one can cause him this much pain and get away with it.  so i asked him to take a deep breath, slow down, and tell me exactly what was wrong. 

"well today at school all the kids in my class got their pictures that were taken at school a few weeks ago and i didn't and only like three others in my class didn't and i don't know why i didn't and they were all looking at them and i didn't have any and i don't think i'm going to be in the yearbook and --" before he dissolved into another round of heaving sobs.

i sat there, with my seven-year old boy curled in my lap, and i'm not sure i have ever felt worse as a parent.  because the person who caused him to be in this state that necessitated my comfort was, in fact, ME.

it was such an easy thing to do: order a sheet of yearbook photos, write a check, send it in.  but when the order forms came home, i scoffed at their prices -- the cheapest package was $22.00 for a sheet that probably costs 10 cents to produce -- and decided against it.  i know that in a year or two, the kids will start trading yearbook pictures and coming home with a stack of all of their friends' with their names signed on the back, and i guess by then i'll have to bite the bullet.  but i knew that from talking to other moms that in kindergarten and first grade the packages come home and are possibly shared with family and that's about it.  for $22.00 i could take a picture and blow it up to poster size and ship it halfway around the world and still come out ahead.  so the order forms went into the recycling bin and i never thought once about them.

until last night.  i was struck at how insensitive i had been.  i could immediately imagine how everything had unfolded -- i was a middle school teacher for a decade, you know --  how all the students were seated at their desks, and how liam's teacher held the stack of picture envelopes in her hands and called the kids up one by one.  "oh claire! what a gorgeous smile!", she might say, as claire goes up to retrieve her pictures.  "wow, david, you hadn't lost your tooth yet," she might say to another, before david eagerly opens up his envelope.  and there liam sat, watching his classmates return to their seats, waiting and waiting for his name to be called.  and then feeling a wave of disappointment, and confusion, when the last name was called and it wasn't his. all of this because his mother was too cheap to place an order.

i know that money can't buy happiness.  and i certainly don't intend to indulge my children by buying their every wish and desire so that they can fit in, because obviously that's not healthy (and we'd probably go broke trying.)  but if there's a $22.00 package of pictures to be ordered, which gives us not only a keepsake of him at this age but also supports the school in a fundraiser, and prevents him from feeling a sense of bewilderment as to why his mom's just about the only one who didn't want any pictures of her child ... well, i think i can manage that. 

in the meantime, i wait for the doorbell to ring and for my award to be given.  i probably should apply a bit more lipstick.  because for a crime committed such as this -- oh, the irony -- they're going to want my photograph.