May 1

May 1, 2009.

Remember this day.

It will be the day my son recalls to his future therapists.

Tonight my son will sing his solos in front of the entire first and second grade, their parents and family, the teachers and staff, his grandparents, his dad, and his siblings.

But not his mom.

Because his mom will be rocking out with The Dave Matthews Band at the exact same time of the first/second grade musical.

I guess this takes me out of the running for Mother of the Year.

The teacher was very sympathetic when I told her I wouldn't be there and arranged for DMB fan friends and me to attend the big rehearsal this afternoon when we really should be on the road to beat the traffic so we can tailgate and get our drink on, but you should've seen her face when I truthfully told her where I'd be instead of front row center on musical night. It's a Christian school. How could I lie?

So in the end, I get to see both.

And I'm guaranteed a front row seat this way.

But I still feel guilty.

I mean, what mom would CHOOSE to miss her kid's independent musical debut?

I do. What does that say about me? Do I not care about my kid? What is wrong with me?

Seeing May 1 on the calendar for the past three months has haunted me. That little square filled to capacity with too many activities. I've wanted to forget about it. It was too far away. Gotta do Easter first. Then vacation. But here it is. It's May 1 today. And I need it to hurry up and be over. Quit mocking me, May 1. So I'm not Mother of the Year. Maybe my kid WILL end up in therapy. Maybe he will be sad I'm not there. Maybe most likely the snooty mamas will have something to talk about next week at their coffee counter. Maybe I will spend the rest of my Christmas money on Star Wars Legos to make myself feel better, but it's done. It's planned. My friend's are coming. And they're bringing beer.

Shove off May 1.