"Act like a real mudder," The Kid says to me.
A real mother? What's that supposed to mean?? Do I not act like a real mother? Thanks a lot, Kid! Geez.
I asked him to elaborate, and he just made a fart noise. Great. Boys are so wonderful.
He got me to thinking. Maybe I don't act like a real mother--at least not like the ones he sees on TV.
-I don't spend my days picking up after him or dusting the house. I mean, I clean every so often, but I'm not an immaculate housekeeper by any stretch of the imagination.
-I do bake sometimes, but usually that's just because I have a hankering for chocolate chip cookies, or because I have to bake the bananas into bread since I let them get old and black.
-You're more likely to find me sitting in front of my computer writing than driving a carpool of kids to soccer practice.
-I cook dinner maybe once or twice a week, but usually we just eat whatever we can scrounge up. It's easier that way, and cheaper.
-He generally runs out of socks before I get around to doing the laundry...and then it will sit in the basket for a few days before I fold it and put it away, inevitably quite wrinkly.
I did, however, grow The Kid from a speck to an 8+ pound baby who I eventually had to push out of my body. I give him about a hundred hugs and kisses every day. I taught him a song to teach him how to spell his name. I let him win a few battles. I play video games and board games with him. I take him to the fancy cheese store to sample cheeses whenever he asks (he asks often--he's kind of a weird kid). I let him eat dessert, but not so much that his teeth will fall out or that he'll bounce off the walls. I tell him that I love him constantly. Constantly.
So, yeah, maybe I'm not June Cleaver (not that The Kid would even know who that is), but I'd say I'm doing a decent job. He's a great kid, which must mean that I'm doing something right.
Next time he tells me to act like a real mother, I think I'll spit on a napkin and clean his face with it. That'll teach him.
20 hours ago