More confessions of a bad mommy...

Back when I first started blogging, and before I found MckMama's "Not Me Monday," I used to confess my embarrassing mom stories in a "confession" post like this.

Since it's NOT Monday (and, for that matter, since I'm NOT MckMama- even though I enjoy reading her blog and am very excited that she is now a Compassion blogger heading to Kenya in a bit- but just ME) I've decided to confess again. Anew. So here goes:

Last week my daughter's dance teacher told me that Big Sister needed new dance shoes. I think she told me this because the last time she needed new shoes, no one told me (even though Big Sis has been extremely verbal since she was, I don't know, exiting my womb) and I found out because the poor child was bringing home filthy tights from dancing without any shoes at all.

You would think that I would have learned my lesson and check the dumb dance bag every once in a while, or at least ask my child over & over if her shoes were pinchy until she caved.

But no. I had to be informed by the teacher that her shoes were definitely too small.

In my defense, I must say that

1. Big Sister's feet have just undergone a huge growth spurt. I saw it coming, and the dance shoes were confirmation. Time for new tennis shoes, dress shoes, everything...
2. Dance is an "extra-curricular" at her preschool. I am not absent-minded enough to actually drive my daughter to a special dance lesson each week, sit there with her while she practices (or out in a lobby) and then drive her home without noticing her trying to cram her feet into her tap shoes ugly-stepsister-style. I'm just absentminded enough to barely remember to send the dance bag with her on Tuesdays, and almost never check to see if the shoes are the right size...

But it gets better. Or worse...

I checked the consignment store for new, er, old dance shoes but had no luck. I planned on hitting Payless this weekend, but a stomach bug foiled my plans.

So last night I scrambled into the hand-me-down shoe bag and found my old ballet shoes and some too-big tap shoes. When I woke Big Sister to get ready for school this morning, I quickly slipped one of the shoes on her feet to be sure they weren't ridiculously ginormous, and then crammed them into the dance bag with the too-small shoes. I figured if she didn't have a pair that fit, she at least had options.

More embarrassing than being told by a near stranger that your daughter needs new shoes? Yes.

But it gets better. Or worse...

I was wiping down tables after snack while the Mom's Morning Out kids played outside, when my friend Megan stuck her head in the door and told me someone was looking for me.

It was the dance teacher. I was probably already blushing.

I can't really remember the conversation because I don't really want to. I know I told her something about being sick this weekend. And I think I even told her that the new/old ballet shoes used to be mine (why?!).

And then she said that she just wanted to let me know that the tap shoes I sent were both the same feet.

Apparently we had two pairs of the same size, and since I only tried on one of the "pair" I didn't realize it. I just shoved them in the bag before herding the girls into the bathroom to run a wet comb through their curls.

So, not only am I the lady who doesn't know when her kid's shoes are too small, or who sends her with hand-me-downs including a 25 year-old-pair of my own, but I am also the goober who sends TWO LEFT SHOES.

(Insert appropriate "two left feet" dancing joke here, but after what I just spent on Tap shoes, Big Sister better be twinkle-toes.)