I Am THAT Mom

On Friday morning Husband retrieved our girls from their beds and got the morning started. I slept in. Until 7:30. Not super late. But late on Parent Planet. When I did get out of bed, I was moving slowly. But smiling. As a few fine folks in the Twittersphere already know, I had a big night out on Thursday night. A delicious night that involved gowns and tuxes and dinosaurs and Dave Matthews. A fabulous night on which I may or may not have accosted the current cast of Saturday Night Live with clumsy praise (Kristen Wiig said she liked my dress!) Thursday night was a night on which Husband and I were able to go back, briefly and beautifully, to the night we said “I do.” A night on which I was able to glimpse my past and my future, where the two compellingly commingled around that invincible and irresistible present moment. That moment we too often miss. That moment we too rarely revere.

And I am sorry to be cryptic, to tease you with tiny bits. I will tell you all about my night. Later though. Now, my head is somewhere else. And I need to go there.

Back to Friday morning. I didn’t have time to shower. I raced out the door with Toddler. I buckled her into the Bugaboo. And as I started bouncing her down our front steps, I heard a snap. Something on the stroller broke. We turned around and I put her in the other stroller. The Maclaren. The one that has been recalled. Yes. As many of you know, there has been a massive stroller recall because kids were getting their fingertips sliced off somehow. I didn’t actually look into the recall details. I’m a good mom like that. And I haven’t picked up the free protection part for this stroller. I’m a good mom like that.

So. Off we went toward school in the finger-slicing stroller. I caught a few moms glaring at me. We kept going. And then Toddler started begging for a donut. And so I pushed the finger-slicing stroller into Dunkin’ Donuts and proceeded to purchase a whopping donut for my little girl. Pink frosting. Rainbow sprinkles. Toddler is go big or go home when it comes to most things, including donuts. We continued on toward school.

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03.23.2010
MarieC
Yeh, I AM that "flip side" Mom. The one you all "think" has it all together. It's an illusion!! Don't be fooled.No body is perfect, just some of us are real good at sliding under the radar. (Notice I said good NOT better...)
03.09.2010
Bohemian Latina
Most of the time I'm too tired or too busy to take my little sister to the playground (or to do anything fun, for that matter), and I feel the worst sister ever when that happens (very often). My mom promised the daycare lady that she would send pizza the other day, for the kids' lunch, and totally forgot about it until 6 pm, when, at the daycare, one of the little boys asked "did you bring us pizza? I loove pizza!". She was mortified. I sometimes eat at home with my sister instead of finding a way of teaching her how to behave in public (mostly because all of my attempts have failed so far). Whenever she grabs something at a supermarket and starts crying, I let her have it, instead of being firm and saying no. Because I don't want to deprive her of anything, and want her to feel loved, she'll probably grow up to be a spoiled brat. But it's ok to fail at everyday chores, isn't it?
I'm the Other Mom - I freaked out last night about a little lie, convinced that if my daughter would lie about a piece of candy, she would lie about drugs. I would be hauling my baby out of a crack house because of the lie!! She's 6. Yea, we went and got hot cocoa this morning on the way to school.
11.29.2009
Chas Thorp
And don't forget the flip side is also true. That Mom (or Dad) who is always so together, the one you can't figure out how they do it. There are definitely days when other parents look at you and wonder how it is possible to be so together, on top of it and perfect. :)
11.27.2009
Hillcat48
Oh, Dear, you are so NOT perfect; the horror of it all. LOL! And surprising Toddler lived through that day and probably many more to come. Woefully, my mom was That Mom, so was I and now, alas, so is my daughter. When will it all end? I hope never.
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