and Life Without Pink
are co-hosting “NOT Mom of the Year” this week, and I’ve enjoyed reading everyone else’s posts so much I just had to join in. I admit I feel a little guilty, though, because I am the PERFECT recipient of this award. You name a parenting challenge and I’ve failed it, often quite spectacularly.
I set the standard before my first child was even born. Other moms were eating healthy foods and exercising during their pregnancies. I craved raw red meat and the only exercise I got was picking fights with total strangers. Yeah, those pregnancy hormones are fabulous. This probably explains why my kids are seven years apart. I went back to work full-time when he was six weeks old – no cushy FMLA leave back then – put him in daycare with total strangers and hoped they wouldn’t involve him in any Satanic rituals right away. Breastfeeding and cloth diapers didn’t make it past the three-month mark since I got a new job where even bathroom breaks were frowned on, so taking a 20-minute break to pump was out of the question.
Ah, potty training. This is where it gets REALLY ugly. Has anyone read the book “Potty Training in Less Than a Day” (or something close to that)? It should have been titled “How to Guarantee Your Child Needs Therapy for the Rest of Their Life”. I tried it, of course. NOT good.
I sent him to daycare KNOWING he was probably coming down with something, but hoping I could get through more than half the workday so I wouldn’t have to use up my vacation time. I lied about his vaccinations. I selected his school partially based on the cute uniforms. I let him eat raw cookie dough and soft-boiled eggs.
Then when he was seven, the little brother he had prayed for came along. By this time I was an experienced mom and knew that an occasional dose of benadryl for the child when Mommy REALLY needed some sleep was reasonable, as was handing a child a jar of peanut butter and a spoon if that was the closest I was going to come to a home-cooked meal that night. And I’m talking Jif
people, not even the “all-natural, no preservatives” stuff.
I’ve used Febreeze and a damp cloth on uniform pants instead of doing laundry. I have bought Pinewood Derby cars online instead of actually making them with my child.
I chaperoned one field trip with each child. It was the year Aaron was in seventh grade and John was in Kindergarten. Aaron’s field trip was to an art museum and I was assigned a group of six girls. I called a halt to the tour half way through because the girls were being such bitches to the sweet, elderly docent. I gave them a little “come to Jesus” talk that I’m sure was reported to their parents (in an enhanced version) later that day. John’s field trip was to a farm. I had five boys and I lost one. The brat showed up before the bus left, but I decided I wasn’t cut out to be a chaperon.
I put it my time with both boys at Cub Scout Camp. I don’t know the words to the worm song, I can’t do the chants without sounding sarcastic, and when I try to tie the beads on the lanyards they always fall off. They tried to make me Camp Nurse once until I said I wasn’t impressed with an injury or illness unless someone was unconscious, spurting blood, or had a fever above 102.5. Critical care nurses don’t make good camp nurses. Oh, and while I’m on the topic, taking your kid off his ADD meds for the summer and then sending him to camp that involves BB guns and archery is a BAD idea. You WILL meet the camp nurse, and she will not be happy.
I’ve saved the best for last. This is the crowning jewel in my “NOT Mom of the Year” crown. My children watch Family Guy.
It appalls me. I can’t sit through ten minutes of it. It’s completely inappropriate, and not just for kids. It just shouldn’t be on the air. But I’m just too freakin’ tired after a long day at work to pull out the board games every night. And how do you think blog posts get written around here? With Family Guy in the background and Ale8
and Little Debbie cakes being consumed by the children.