You May Not Get Mother of the Year if...

OK let's face it.  I adore my kids.  I think the world of all of them and I am an advocate for each of them.  I love them and I can't imagine life without them.  That being said....I wouldn't call myself a kid person.  Don't get me wrong, they are wonderful people.  I am so lucky to have all of them in my life.  Again, that being said....no one told me it would be like this.  I think most parents would agree....or else they have perfect kids, are on drugs or are completely delusional.  Let's be honest.  Being a good parent is tough.  We say no, we deny privileges, we discipline, we are tough enough to stick to our guns and we don't feel the need to be our kids' friends.

So in that spirit I will tell you why I will not be parent of the year in 2005....let's be honest, if they judge by how strict you are, I will never be parent of the year.  I'm tough.  This story is just comical. 

My youngest was sick.  I stayed home for a day with her, I worked from home.  She slept on the couch.  She was in kindergarten, no big deal to miss school and she was rarely sick.  The second day she said she was still feeling bad.  I was not pleased to have to work from home again, but if she was sick, what could I do?  By 11 AM of that day it was clear I was tricked.  She felt fine evidenced by her non stop chatter directed towards me.  I had work to do, I had calls scheduled.  

Haley could read really well in kindergarten.  She could write too.  She was driving me crazy, talking me to death when I had work to do.  Kids can teach you about perspective in ways you can't see coming.  So I was working, had calls scheduled.  Haley was camped on the couch.  I got her juice, snacks, tucked in and a movie to keep her occupied.  I let her know in no uncertain terms that if she had any issues while I was on this call to write them down and NOT come running in my office chattering.  Seems reasonable. 

I was about 45 minutes into the call.  The door of my office opens.  I am looking away, but I know the door opens.  The child in purple flowered feetie jammies that has rooked me into letting her stay home only to talk my ear off has a note in her hand.  I still don't look at the child because she is the child that cried wolf - ALWAYS.  Said note is written on very nice floral letterhead.  I take the note into my hand, without looking at this nuisance of a child.  I read the note while participating in the call.

The note says, grammatically perfectly, "Dear Mommy, (space and indented)  I am bleeding on my cheek.  (space)  Love, Haley Gywnn.

I read the note out of my periferal vision while talking on the call.  I get it.  I am weak in the knees with motherhood.  In that instance I realize what is important even if I don't always know it.  I get off the call.  Poor Haley has been gently scratched on the cheek by a cat and the sweet child took the time to follow my direction and write her needs down.

Not getting Mother of the Year.  But I did get the message loud and clear.