Muddled

The boy just phoned. He was calling to be sure I knew that Special Olympics is this Friday. (Smart of him since we totally spaced on his sister's art show reception last Thursday.) I was totally unaware that this Friday is the day when the athletes will meet on the track field for Special Olympics. Evan is making sure that his mother who fails to keep time knows about the big day.
He was also looking for a commitment from me. "Mom, Mrs. L says you can meet us at the school and ride the bus with us." Ummm. No. ("Bad Mom" whispers that voice that sometimes infiltrates my heart and head.) I am trying to think of what is scheduled this week, but I am coming up blank. I ask where the event will take place to stall for time. As Evan answers it occurs to me that today is infusion day, and I am not at my best right now. I tell him that I won't be giving an answer right now because I am getting my infusion. He knows how that goes, so he backs off. ("What kind of a mother won't give her child a commitment to attend his big event!" says the Bad Mom voice. "The kind who doesn't disappoint her kid by making a promise she is not going to keep!" I retort.) I get off the call and continue to try to straighten out the week's schedule in my fuzzy head so I can give the boy a yes or no answer.
Retrieving my coffee cup, there is hope that the swallowed warmth will bring clarity to my muddled thoughts. Wrong-O. Somewhere between that phone call and the end of the middle school day I will have to determine whether or not to attend. I think I will take a pass on riding the short bus, but I will make it a point to be at the field. He wants me to come cheer him on, and I know that he's not asking for all that much in the grand scheme of things.