So I was listening to the 911 call that Octomom made last fall when one of her children went missing. I feel actually quite sympathetic to Octomom. She’s crazy . . . and she doesn’t know it which, we have established, is a problem. She had a missing child and pregnancy hormones, so she got a little — well, a lot hysterical and started ranting that she was going to kill herself. Doesn’t seem like a logical solution to the problem. Anyway, child showed up after taking a long walk with grandma. End of story. Only “they” are using at to fuel the fire that she is not equipped to handle that many children.
I agree that she probably can’t. I can barely handle the two I have in a two parent household with at least one working parent. Anyway, I have to say, I thought she was a little over the top dramatically on that phone call.
So imagine my surprise when the bus came this afternoon and Colin did not get off the bus. “Don’t Octomom. Don’t Octomom. I kept saying to myself. There is a logical explanation.” I called Brent who suggested I call school. I called school. Nope, they didn’t still have him there, but they would call the bus. YES. He forgot to get off the bus.
We are the first stop. He forgot to get off the bus. I am reminding myself right now that when Jeremy was this age, I had serious doubts about whether he would grow up to become a responsible adult. Look at him now.
Colin and I had a serious discussion about remembering to get off the bus, but I’m not entirely sure it was as full of grace and compassion as it was a scared mom lecturing about personal responsibility.