I have a hard time admitting when I am wrong. Probably because I never am, but I feel that I have dropped the ball recently. I might have to admit that, perhaps, I am not the greatest mom in the world and I have failed my children. When my kids were little, everything they did was micromanaged by their scary, overbearing and overweight mother. Did you eat enough? Did you take a nap? Are your ears clean? Did you go to the bathroom? Checking to make sure they are breathing and not near an outlet or the edge of cliff. Lightning in a 100-mile radius? Everyone inside…You know, basic mothering. Background checks were done on their friends, even when they were in nursery school and private investigators would follow the parents around to make sure they didn’t carry weapons or engage in risky behavior. Picking a playgroup, camp and elementary school took a team of advisors—no stone left unturned. Ok, perhaps I am exaggerating just a bit, but you know what I am talking about.

Then these cute little monkeys start growing up and things happen when your parenting might not always be top notch. Like the time son #2 needed stitches after an incident in synagogue. The bleeding had stopped and it was a beautiful day, so husband #1 and I walked him the two miles to the hospital to meet the doctor. “ How could you walk to the hospital? What would have happened if he passed out or started bleeding?” We looked at each other and said, “ Oh well, we just wanted to spend quality time with our kid.” So we were good parents for wanting to bond, but bad parents for taking our time getting to the ER. You can’t win.

Or the healthy-snack fiasco of elementary school days. The teachers would send notes home with a list of food items that were permitted. These notes were always directed at bad moms like me because I would send Oreos, cheese curls and nacho chips into school (and the occasional Hershey’s product). The list would include fruits, vegetables, fiber enriched/nut-free/vegan/sandpaper-type crackers… Nope. I was not giving in. It is enough that our kids spend more time in school than they do at home, I was not depriving them of the snacks they liked. I maintained that Fruit Roll-Ups, Fruit by the Foot and fruit-flavored Gushers were actual fruits. And since I was just as crazy then as I am now, I was bad mom to the teachers, as my children ate flavored sugar, but good mom to my kids. Win win.

And then as each stage passes you by, you worry less and less about some things and more and more about others. We won’t go into driving. Son #3, my baby, is starting to drive this year. Morning sickness has got nothing on the nausea induced by that thought. So I worry about that, I worry about son #2 wandering aimlessly around Israel and I have forgotten to worry about son #1.

I recently found out that he was living in an apartment this year instead of the dorm. I had no idea. No one asked me my opinion (because I guess they knew what it would be) and no one told me about it (because I guess they knew what I would say). My oldest child will be living in an apartment. What? I haven’t seen this apartment, I don’t know where this apartment is, I don’t know how he is furnishing this apartment. How did I let this one get past me? What kind of mother am I? Was I supposed to call the mothers of the other young men living in this apartment to coordinate meals and paper goods and toilet paper? Were we supposed to have a watsapp group like I have for my high school carpool? Where did I go wrong?

Wait a second, if he isn’t in the dorm he isn’t part of the food plan. If he isn’t part of the food plan he is responsible for feeding himself three meals a day. I am not sure how that is going to work out, but I am sensing that this bad mom, who didn’t know her son was living in an apartment, is going to become a good mom again when she cooks and prepackages meals for her college boy so he doesn’t starve. I guess I will be redeemed in the end after all.

Banji Ganchrow is celebrating son #3’s sweet 16 in the scenic city of Rochester. Minyan, kosher bakery and only three hours away from Toronto…Happy Birthday, Kid!