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"  I have a love-hate relationship with the Cub Scouts: I love what it teaches my boys, and I hate to sit through their Pinewood Derby - so I don&amp;#039;t. But for a moment this weekend, that made me feel very guilty. And then I got over it. Really. &amp;quot;Mom, are you coming to the Pinewood Derby?&amp;quot; my fourth grader asked me on Saturday morning as I pored over my newspaper, a jumbo mug of green tea in my hand. &amp;quot;Not if I can help it,&amp;quot; I blurted. And then I glanced up to find the look of disappointment on his face and instantly felt guilty. Clearly, my son&amp;#039;s memories of the Cub Scouts&amp;#039; annual home-made, miniature car races didn&amp;#039;t jive with mine. He probably remembered running around the school gym with his pals and scarfing down popcorn and hot dogs. I, on the other hand, remembered shouting at kids to &amp;quot;Knock it off!&amp;quot; and rummaging through my purse for snack cash. As a result, just one of us looks forward to the Pinewood Derby. Guess which one. The Pinewood Derby, if you don&amp;#039;t know, is an annual tradition sponsored by the Boy Scouts of America, whereby fathers boys craft racing cars out of small blocks of wood and race them in heat after heat in a hot, crowded school gym while the scouts run around a lot cheer each other on. Many kids except, naturally, one of my two boys win trophies for the speed and creativity of the cars that their fathers they create for the headache-inducing exciting and fun day of racing. Normally, I am not one of those parents - the kind who are marginally interested in their kids&amp;#039; activities. The kind who phone it in. I am, after all, a boys&amp;#039; soccer coach, a class mom and my neighborhood&amp;#039;s hostess of the frat house for fourth graders. And yet, I am not cut out for attending the Pinewood Derby. The last (and I mean, last) time I attended one of these events, I brought my newspaper, much to the envy of other parents who sheepishly admitted that it was a fabulous idea to hide behind my New York Times and leave it up to other parents to warn the kids to &amp;quot;Stay off the tracks!&amp;quot; and &amp;quot;Stop playing keep-away with Jake&amp;#039;s hat!&amp;quot; In short, the Pinewood Derby turns me into a slacker mom. And for a moment on Saturday, I felt guilty about that, until I explained it to my son. &amp;quot;The Pinewood Derby is Dad&amp;#039;s chance to do something special with you guys,&amp;quot; I told him. &amp;quot;I&amp;#039;ve got the class parties, the playdates and your soccer games. I even have next week&amp;#039;s den meeting, because your den leader has to work,&amp;quot; I added. &amp;quot;Dad&amp;#039;s got the Derby.&amp;quot; The disappointed look washed away from his face, and he nodded. He scooped up his derby car, and left for the race, shouting cheerfully, &amp;quot;See you later, Mom!&amp;quot; When he came home, though, his disappointment had returned. I soon realized why: His brother had a trophy, but he had none, because, as I said, many kids except, naturally, one of my two boys win trophies, while others play keep-away with Jake&amp;#039;s hat. At least, that&amp;#039;s how I remember it. I don&amp;#039;t plan to go to next year&amp;#039;s Pinewood Derby, either, and that doesn&amp;#039;t make me feel guilty. Really. "^^<http://www.w3.org/2001/XMLSchema#string>
<http://www.goodhousekeeping.com/life/parenting/a20633/pinewood-derby-makes-me-a-slacker-mom/?src=shelter_footer>