... or allow him to watch three back-to-back episodes of “Pokemon: The Dark Avengers Battle” on a Saturday morning ...
... or don’t stop him and his pals from smearing massive amounts of mud all themselves while they emulate combat Army soldiers in the fierce suburban jungle that is our backyard.
Best Mom Ever
does not have the positive connotations it once did. Best Mom Ever is kinda synonymous with lazy.
I think back
to a happy, airbrushed time, a time when I was pregnant with Tall and dreaming of
what our future life together would look like.
My fondest wish was that my baby would someday look up at me, give me a
hug full of gratitude, and whisper, “You’re the Best Mom Ever.”
This honor would be earned after I had built
an entire train set out of toothpicks ...
... or made three hundred cupcakes from scratch for the school fundraiser ...
... or turned in all my frequent flier miles to fly my child to Rome to study ancient ruins. In short, the special words (Best Mom Ever) would not merely be given to me to assuage the ramifications of my distinct lack of parenting skills. In my pre-baby haze, I had hoped the shiny title would actually be hard-won.
... or made three hundred cupcakes from scratch for the school fundraiser ...
... or turned in all my frequent flier miles to fly my child to Rome to study ancient ruins. In short, the special words (Best Mom Ever) would not merely be given to me to assuage the ramifications of my distinct lack of parenting skills. In my pre-baby haze, I had hoped the shiny title would actually be hard-won.
After eight
years on the parenting front, I have grown accustomed to the moniker of Worst Mom Ever. Worst Mom Ever forces the kids do their
homework, make their beds, brush their teeth, write thank you notes. Worst Mom Ever is all about good judgment, no
cavities, and a perpetual ban on fun.
Worst Mom Ever does not waste money on action figures placed seductively at child's eye level at Target.
Worst Mom Ever has pretty much taken up permanent residence in our household.
I struggle with
the latent Mommy Guilt associated with Worst Mom Ever. Who wants to be the one everybody hates? It is so much easier to be Best Mom Ever and
let the kids have ice-cream for breakfast.
Who matters most in this scenario—me or them? My feelings or their well-being?
“Eat your carrots, Short.”
“I hate you,
Mommy!” Ah, yes, the familiar anthem of motherhood. I adjust my Worst Mom Ever tiara, and smile.
MOV
