Sunday, September 13, 2009

Taking nominations for mom of the year

While I can SAY I'm taking nominations for Mom of the Year, that's actually a sham, because I LOCKED THAT MOFO UP this weekend. 

Yesterday, I was in a mood.  I had co-chaired a fundraising cocktail party the night before and was up late wrapping that up.  Then Oldest's hamster kept me up until 2:30am with her (successful) attempts to escape.  I finally got smart (shoulda woken up Oldest to ask her what to do) and tied the cage door shut with three twist ties in three locations.  Husband arrived home around 1:30 from his brother's bachelor party, which added a little more stimulation to the wee hours of the morning - getting the post game report from him. 

So I woke up (at 7:30am) drained, low, exhausted and truthfully a little sad.  I'm always a little low after doing something really ADULT-ISH, when having to transition back to Mom-only mode.  Really, I think I'd be happier sometimes if I ONLY did the Mom stuff.  Because I'm about as bad at transitions as Oldest.  I just let the transitions eat me alive internally, rather than fall apart externally like she can.  Except for yesterday.  I think you will notice some external falling apart from yours truly.

Anyway, back to my award.  Here is a general rundown of the criteria the judges will use for my big win:

Youngest bit me.  I bellowed at her.  I prefer to think of it as a kiss gone bad, but I still bellowed.

Oldest and Youngest got into a shoving match at the side door gate while I was TRYING to Twitter someone (really, don't they GET it?).  I bellowed at them, and put them both in time outs. 

Youngest whined and cried the whole way through our "special girls night out" dinner.  Which is laughable, because it was less "special" and more "painful like a root canal."  I took them outside to try to get past all of the angst from above and had them run races for about 30 minutes. 

Oldest lost the string from her balloon when we got home.  The balloon floated to the ceiling and she started bawling.  Because I knew this was a pivotal moment for mom of the year, I showed no sympathy to her, but told her, loudly, "God didn't give you this brain for nothing, you figure out how to get your dammed balloon back."  Yes, verbatim.  But there's history here - that child has lost balloons so many times and bawls every time! 

1) THIS balloon wasn't even lost and
2) seriously?  IT'S A BALLOON.

So while I left her to her own personal "necessity is the mother of invention" drama, I took the still whining and crying Youngest upstairs to have a bath, telling her along the way that Mommy was REALLY finished with the whining.  And when I went to take her clothes off, she felt hot, very hot!  Yes, friends and neighbors - she had a 103 temperature.  MIGHT explain the crazed behavior. 

So as it's dawning on me that I've been short, cranky and occasionally downright mean to a SICK child, not just one having typical two year old moments, I hear a huge, HUGE crash downstairs.  I whisk naked, feverish Youngest downstairs to find Oldest lying on the floor next to a stool, which is next to their kid table, which has lost two of its legs. 

First order - Is Oldest OK?  Answer - yes.  Scared and shaky, but yes.  Second order?  "WHAT THE HELL JUST HAPPENED?" 

Oldest:  "Well, Mommy, you told me to figure it out myself, so I pulled over our table, but when I stood on that, I wasn't high enough.  Then I put the stool on top of the table.  I was high enough then, but the balloon was at an angle, so I jumped for it.  When I landed the table crashed down." 

DAMN, that WAS ingenious!  I knew she could do it!  Except for that whole she could have broken several bones issue, of course. 

And guess what she did with the balloon when she got it?  Popped it, because "it could hurt someone."

Yep, it could, my little genius. 

Moral of this story?  When there's a balloon to be had, your gifted child will soar to the highest heights to reach it. 

Anyone else have Mom of the Year stories to share?  Come on - help me take myself out of the doghouse. 

P.S.  Table is fixed and Youngest is OK so far - I'm just hoping it's not swine flu.   And why is it that all the REALLY GOOD drama happens when Husband's not home?  Is that some sort of law of physics?
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