I’m a sap.

Fifteen years ago, I was a tough business woman and political activist living in Boston. I refused to wear pantyhose or listen to love songs on the radio. Now I get weepy at Wal-Mart commercials.

What happened to me?

I’ll tell you what happened to me. The doctors removed two children from my uterus and accidentally took my steely resolve with them.

Oldest and Youngest will tell you I’m tough, but I know the truth. They think I’m tough because I make them eat all their broccoli before they get dessert. I guess I’m tough in other ways, too. I can function on less than two hours of sleep and once got physical with an aggressive vacuum cleaner. I have also been known to respond with an eye-roll when my boys complain about a video game they broke after falling on it while wrestling in the house.

“No, I will not buy you a new one,” I’d say, handing them a broom. “And if you’re looking for sympathy, it’s in the dictionary between shit and syphilis.”

But most of the time, when they are upset, I offer hugs and kisses and we work on a solution together.

I know. I’m not proud of it either.

This morning, my son called from school, weepy and soft-spoken. He had left one of his books at home. Since we practically live across the street…

“When do you need it?” I asked.

“The faster the better,” he said softly.

I put Rachael Ray’s compelling narrative on hold and motored up to the school with Youngest’s book. Other parents will warn that I should have refused the request, teaching responsibility, and in the future he’ll remember his own books.

You’re right, you’re right. I know you’re right.

But all I could think about is the time I traveled home from Colorado with my two little five year-olds and forgot to bring booster seats. Mom, smirking, knew me and bought two on her way to the airport.

In other words, my kids come by it honestly.

I delivered the book with an extra hug. My youngest son’s genuine gratitude was enough for me to know I’d done the right thing.

“Do you have my brother’s book, too?” he asked.

My jaw almost dropped to the floor.

“What do you mean?” I asked. “He didn’t remember his book either?”

Steely resolve, Kate. Steely resolve.

“Aren’t you in the same class?” I asked. “Can you share?”

Youngest nodded and gulped.

“The teacher is tough. She’ll be angry and disappointed.”

What about me? I used to be tough.

I thought about Oldest. He’d know I delivered one book, so how could I not deliver his, too? Mommy guilt sucks. I looked at Youngest and sighed.

“When you called me, why didn’t you mention that he needed his book, too?”

“I thought I said both books, Mommy. I really did.”

I walked back through the office and felt the eyes of the administrators on me.

“I’ll be right back,” I announced. “My oldest son forgot his book, too.”

I looked around. They would have been happier watching Rachael Ray, too.

“I know,” I said, “I know all the parenting books say I shouldn’t run these type of errands. But, what can I do? If I help one and not the other, I can just imagine the therapy bills in a few years.”

One of the secretaries smiled, but I could see it in her eyes: go away, crazy woman.

They were definitely judging me.

I made the second trip and my boys were so grateful they promised to do chores without complaining for the rest of the week. I came home and wondered if I’d done the right thing. I called my mom and discussed the pros and cons.

“I’ll explain tonight at dinner that if I had been in a meeting or at the office, I couldn’t have made such a trip. They would have been out of luck.”

“Don’t worry,” Mom said. “Your kids aren’t brats. They didn’t demand anything. What they will remember from this morning is that you were there for them. You helped them. You’re their hero right now.”

Right now. Until I demand they finish their broccoli.

They came home from school singing my praises and talking about how I’m the best mom in the world.

Maybe I should enjoy this while it lasts. I give it until 6pm.