Whose fault?

One weekend, Claire’s friend Anna made a craft with Aquabeads at our place before asking her to bring it to school the next Monday. Monday morning, we were so busy that we all forgot the thing. I felt sorry for Anna that evening when Claire was back home and mentioned the Heart of beads. “You should remember it!”I repeated to Claire.

It was three days later that I finally kept the idea of put the craft in Claire’s hands before getting on the car. That night, I received an email from Anna’s mom, who thanked Claire for the craft, which ought to be a present that Anna made for her friend. “Claire forgot to bring it as soon as promised. She was always late and in a hurry.” I wrote an email back.

That was not a big deal but the similar situation repeated.  I always apologized in the name of Claire, which seemed to be very modest and polite. However, sometimes I felt so embarrassed. There was something wrong, definitely.

Why was she always late? Who made her in a hurry? Who always forgot things? It was me. Nevertheless, I attributed the mess to her. Maybe, unconsciously, I believed that it was normal and forgivable if children did wrong things while for a grownup it was shameful. That’s a bad excuse.

Claire is only four but I’m thirty-five. If we are all wrong, the best way to avoid the polite apologies is to change my own morning chaos.

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