At what age do our motherly neuroses become an embarrassment to our children? I’m asking for a friend.

You see, upon dropping her child off at school this morning, she did something she was afraid was an embarrassment to her boy in front of all of his pals.

Here’s how she described what happened:

It started off better than usual, even, as they held hands and ran down the hill and into line with the rest of his classmates. They had been laughing about it and having a fun time together. Upon reaching his one buddy, in particular, they do this fancy version of Rock Paper Scissors  where they immediately put their fist in the palm of their opposite hand and go really fast at first and then they turn their fists upside down and then they go in slow motion and then they SHOOT!

Well, as they prepared their hands for the imminent competition, my friend decided that her boy would most certainly be too cold with only his zip-up sweatshirt on. Please note: my friend’s boy constantly nags her about not wanting to wear his winter coat because it is too bulky and uncomfortable. I think on this day, she decided to give him a break…

So she asked him, completely interrupting his focus, if he thought he would be too cold without his winter coat and would he like it if she dropped it off to him. He declined her offer. But then she felt just certain that he must be freezing and proceeded to lift up his hood and place it over his head, not realizing that in doing so, she caught the side of his glasses and pushed them off his face and onto the pavement below. 

Mortified, my poor friend looked up to see not just the one buddy peering onto the situation, but many others all around. She was in a sea of second-graders and cramping the style of the one they all had their eyes on. He reached down to pick up his glasses and clean them off on his shirt. 

She sheepishly asked him if his glasses were OK and apologized.  Under his breath he said they were fine and it was OK.  My friend then asked her boy for at least a fist bump, in which he obliged, then she padded him on his hooded head, told him she loved him and said good-bye.

Afterwards, my friend told me she felt like the size of a munchkin from The Wizard of Oz as she quickly made her way back up the hill to the car, painfully replaying the events of the previous moments.

I tried to offer her consolation, but I still don’t think is was enough. So, I ask again, for a friend, do you suppose this was pretty high up on the ladder of embarrassment?