All That Really Matters

This morning, my son and I arrived at his school bus stop to find most of the other kids there wearing mismatched socks and outfits so "out there" that you would have thought chaos had happened in every household. And it probably had, since, as I remembered in that moment, it was "Wacky Tacky Day" at my son's school.
 
In our household, the only chaos was finding pants that fit and getting all three children out the door, reasonably dressed, at least a little bit fed, and with whatever lunch, lunch money, or signed note each one needed. An email about "Wacky Tacky Day" sent the day before didn't even enter my brain in those mad-dash morning hours. I was just glad we made it to the bus stop on time.
 
Once we were there, though, I felt terrible that my son might feel left out at school. (I guess I suffered through enough social trauma in my own elementary school life that I'm vigilant about avoiding it with my kids). I apologized for forgetting. "It's okay, Mom," he said. "Nobody in my class will do it anyway." Clearly, this was of no particular interest to him, so why should it be of interest to me? He climbed onto the bus, barely a look back, and I walked away. He had made the bus, clothed, fed, and with whatever lunch and notes he needed. And for him, that was all that really mattered. That, and the fact that his best friend was on the bus.
 
While it may be fine to try to do everything, and be everything, sometimes "all that really matters" is pretty simple. And sometimes, "all that really matters" is really enough.