Have you ever noticed that mothers always take the broken cookie on the plate? They choose the biscuit that got a little overbrowned? They select the teeniest piece of cake when there isn’t quite enough to go around? It seems to be part of our maternal DNA, that instinct we have that leads us to sacrifice our own desires for the benefit of the people we love.
Unfortunately, all of my maternal munificence recently came to an inglorious end. The nurturing, motherly part of my soul shriveled and sniveled its way into a corner after almost eighteen wonderful years of operating in Full Unselfish Mothering Mode.
And what was the cause of this catastrophic event? One little old’ scoop of KFC mashed potatoes, that’s what! Here’s the whole (ugly) story.
Our family was sitting around the table one Sunday afternoon, eating a takeout meal from Kentucky Fried Chicken. Most of the food had been passed and it was finally time for the little container of potatoes to make its way around. It started with my son, went to my husband, passed by my parents-in-law and finally came to me.
I was so incredibly happy to see the Potato Container wending its way in my direction because I love potatoes and gravy. I live for potatoes and gravy!
But alas! When I finally got my greedy paws on the Styrofoam bowl and peered into its depths, I saw to my everlasting horror that there was just one small scoop of delectable, white stuff remaining.
One scoop.
I looked to my left and noticed that my daughter, Sarah, had not yet gotten any potatoes. I looked at the potatoes again. I looked at Sarah’s plate.
I wrestled with my conscience. I wrestled with my soul. I wrestled with the Unselfish Mother DNA that was rising up in full force. I wrestled with the Selfish Becky Smith DNA that was rising up in even fuller force.
I pondered. I ruminated. I looked at the potatoes one more time. And then, as hard as this is to admit, I helped my selfish self to the last serving of potatoes.
And then I had the nerve to pass Sarah the empty container and say, “Sorry, sweetie. The potatoes are all gone.”
Sarah looked at me. She looked at my plate. She looked at HER plate. Her face filled with the pitiful pathos of a potato-deprived princess. She looked back at me once more and said, “You took ALL the potatoes?”
My first instinct was to be proud of myself, to be proud that I had stood up for myself and had not cowed to what I should have done.
