A Little Mommy Guilt

So I just read a beautifully written article on mommy hood, Friendly Fire.  The article is about the debate between being a SAHM or a working mom.  Truthfully that is not the topic about which I am writing today.  However, she also hit on my topic which is mommy guilt.

Today I am sharing (in an effort to rid myself of) my current BIG-TIME mommy guilt.  This weekend my husband and I are taking a well needed adult vacation.  A few months back I thought I had been thorough in checking schedules for a truly open weekend.  However, I am not sure this really exists.  Alas, after the the date had been chosen there it was on my calendar.  Previously I had missed it, but at that moment it stood out in big capital letters, and in red no less.

WESTERN DAY

Now if you find yourself reading this post and are not a parent you may not be aware of the significance of Western Day to a child.  It is a day in which us city folk dress up in our pristine (because of the lack of appropriate use) western wear and celebrate cowboys, cowgirls, cowpokes, etc.  This is a shot from Western Day last year.

 

So, anyway this is a BIG day in the life of a child.  And there next to the words WESTERN DAY on my calendar is this little thing: 2:15.  Now all you parents know what that means . . . assembly.  And an assembly means a performance, as you can plainly see from above picture.

Now for the guilt part of this post.  I did discover this calendar conflict before the final reservations were made and we could have just postponed our flights until later in the day.  My wonderful hubby and all others involved in the weekend said that they were fine with leaving later in the day.  However, we would lose a whole day of our time away and the big decision was left in my incapable hands.  Incapable because I was in a darned if I did, darned if I didn't situation.  You guys know what I mean.  If we stayed then the kids wouldn't perform well, but if we missed it then everyone in the entire school would be texting me telling me my kids stole the whole show.  Alas, I did what anyone might do in my position . . . left the decision up to my hubby, one who is not plagued with mommy-guilt, and pushed it to the recesses of my mind.

Now the time has arrived and the gnawing is back.  I have arranged for my wonderful friends to take pictures and videos for me; and on Friday morning I will dress them to the nines in their pristine western garb, send them off to school, then scurry out of town with my tail between my legs (mommy-guilt in tow).