Mom of the Year

I am going to give myself an award. Many of you think you deserve this award, but I assure you – it is mine.

I get the Bad Mom Award.

It all started seven years ago when I got a nursing degree. I am very compassionate with anyone outside of my family, but within the family, I think it is whispered behind my back that I am a bit of a Nurse Ratched (imagine that!). When I got the nursing degree, I began to think that I knew what I was doing. When I tell my husband when he has a fever, “You're not sick. Get up and caulk that bathroom,” I feel that since I have that RN behind my name, I know what's going on. Perhaps not.

It was a year ago that my son got slammed into a wall while playing indoor soccer. He's young. He's flexible. When he started complaining that his back hurt, I raised an eyebrow and gave him an ice pack. A few months later, I took him to the chiropractor. It helped, but the pain came back. I figured that the kid had never had aches and pains – he just hadn't learned to ignore it. Another month of ice and Advil, and I said, “Okay. I'll get it x-rayed.” I said this begrudgingly, which I am truly sad to admit.

It turned out that the poor boy had a bi-lateral stress fracture of his vertebrae. Bad Mom Award.

Then there was the time my daughter said that she had an upset stomach before going to school. “You're just tired,” the Mom of the Year said. “Brush your teeth.” After which, the girl proceeded to throw up her entire breakfast (and probably the previous night's dinner) in the sink. Again, Bad Mom Award.

And then this week. My daughter had missed gymnastics last week for a stomach ache. I had been lax. I had given in easily and allowed her to miss without so much as a temperature check. So, when she met me after school this week and said that her stomach hurt again on a gymnastics day, my head spun around a couple of times and I said, “You're not sick. You're just tired.” Hm, I sense a pattern here.

She replied with tears and a loud voice saying, “Mom! I'm really sick! Why don't you believe me?”

My answer was, of course, “Quit yelling.” I still didn't believe her.

We made it to the car and I gave in to her squalls by dropping by our house instead of going straight to the gym. “Just take my temperature!” she wailed.

I bared my teeth at the poor child and said, “Okay, fine. But if you don't have a fever, you are going.”

She did not have a fever. I said, “Get dressed. We're going,” which set off another round of “Mom! I'm really sick!”

I narrowed my eyes and said, “Okay. You stay home, but you are not moving off of that couch. No TV. No iPod.”

The girl slept for two hours. She really was sick. Bad Mom Award.

So don't feel bad. You are a good mom. You just might want to avoid my house if you're ever feeling sick. I might make you go caulk the bathroom.

Silver Linings Part 2

I just got home from yet another vacation filled with silver linings.

This time the family went tent-camping in the mountains of New Mexico. It was a great family-bonding experience. There was no electricity at the camp site, but we did have water (really, really cold water). And showers, sort of. Okay, so maybe not actual showers – more of a drizzle in a shower-shaped stall that had a button that had to pushed every 10 seconds or the water shut off.

It rained while we were there – every night. The silver lining? Our tent didn’t leak. And it was great sleeping with the sound of rain on the roof of the tent.

On our first full day in the mountains, we went for a 2.6 mile hike on the side of a mountain. While we were hiking, we got hailed on. We had no shelter, and we had just stopped under a pine tree to eat our sandwiches. What started as rain gradually upgraded to a lovely shower of pea-sized hail. The good thing? It wasn’t baseball-sized hail.  And as my daughter sat shivering in the hail with her wet shorts and t-shirt, she said, “This is the coolest thing ever!” The Doritos got a little soggy, but the cookies were fantastic. Even my wizened 19-year-old said, “This is how a vacation should be.” Who would have thought…

We decided to relax the on the day after our hike by going to a hot springs spa. This was going to be the highlight of our vacation (at least for me). We used to look for caves to explore on family vacations. Now, we’re changed our focus to hot springs for the old, achy bones. I was so excited. We got there and I started handing out the swimming suits. Guess who forgot the bottoms to her suit? Of course, it was me. Lucky for me, my son was wearing a pair of sliders that he could do without that I could wear. And even luckier for me, he had worn his black ones, not his white ones.

On our way home, we stopped at a Benedictine monastery north of Santa Fe (Christ in the Desert). It is a beautiful, peaceful place, bursting with the spirit of God. I drove on the way to the monastery. My husband drove on the way back. The road to the cloister is a 13 mile rock and red dirt path perched at times on the side of desert mountains. It takes a full hour to traverse it. On the way back to civilization, we got a flat tire. The road was so bumpy, we didn’t even feel it. Lucky for us, a car was behind us that flagged us down to tell us (and we thought they were just wanting to pass). We completely shredded the old tire. Again, lucky for us, we didn’t damage the metal wheel. And our spare was in good shape. And the boys got to climb one of those desert mountains while Dad changed the tire (“Best part of the trip Mom!”). And Dad was driving (not Mom) when it happened – thank you, God, for small favors.

We had to change our travel plans and spend the night in Santa Fe instead of Amarillo since our spare was a small one, and Amarillo was way too far to go on that spare. Santa Fe is cool! And we had really great New Mexican food. And the hotel didn’t charge us a fee to change our reservation. And Wal Mart was still open so we could buy a new tire.

You see, if you look hard enough, you can always find the silver linings in the dark clouds. What could have been a disastrous vacation was actually an amazing adventure. It’s all in the attitude. And chocolate helps too.

Selling My Body

My one desire in life is to stay home and raise my children. Okay, so that's a bit dramatic -- maybe not my one desire. I want to go to Antarctica, I want to go up in a hot air balloon, I want to get a book published. But I really, really love being a stay-at-home mom.

In order to stay home with my kids, I have to figure out a way to pay for my sons' college (yes, plural). I have two in college now. I am terrified of working full-time as a nurse, and I have not become the rich and famous writer that I dream of being, so I have to get a bit creative. Nothing illegal, just creative.

A friend of mine suggested that I write about some of these things. I think she thinks I'm a little crazy.

One of the things I do is get on focus groups. You know those people with the clipboards in the mall who want to know your opinion that you avoid eye contact with? Well, I walk up to them. I've made a few bucks here and there by giving my opinion on things like mounting tape and razors. It's kind of fun, and I've gotten really good at telling people exactly what I think. The pay varies, but if I actually get chosen to be on a focus group, I can make around $100 for a few hours of talking.

A month ago I entered a brain study. I did a bunch of memory tasks while the examiner did an MRI of my brain. $30 an hour. Not bad. I even got $10 to spit in a tube. I told the pastoral assistant at my church that I was selling my body. She shook her head. She knows me well.

I heard there was another study going on that they pay participants $10 a test tube for blood. I'm trying to get into that one. I wonder how many tubes they need... I think I heard the name of the study group was DraculaInc. Does that sound suspicious??

Now I'm going to help take care of an older gentleman one day a week. Yeah, it's actually nursing. But I don't think it's going to be scary. There are no open wounds and nobody is in labor.

I wonder how much I would get for donating plasma? Isn't that one of those things they pay you for? What about a kidney?

You know, things would be alot easier if I would just win the lottery...

A Funny Story

So, I’m supposed to be writing a synopsis for my romance novel. Writing synopses is not one of my favorite things. So what am I doing? I’m going to tell a slightly bawdy story. It’s not too bad, but if you’re squeamish, you might want to stop here.

I was waiting for my daughter to get out of her gymnastics class the other day. I don’t usually socialize – I’m the mom with the laptop fired up, typing away, occasionally glancing over my bifocals to make sure my daughter is still alive. I intersperse my romance writing “He ran his fingertips down her soft skin…” with mental commands to my daughter, “Point your toes!”

That is probably what got me in trouble.

The mom on the couch across from me was talking to her two-year-old son. He had just cleaned the floor with his hands.

“Come here, Timmy, and get some hand sanitizer,” she said. (I changed the names to protect the innocent.)

Timmy looked up at his mom, then looked at his hands, then shook his head. No hand sanitizer necessary, he had decided.

“Timmy, you’ll like it,” his mom said. “It’s new. It’s G-Spot scented.”

Okay. So right here was when my eyes shot up from my laptop and I accidentally swallowed my Altoid. I really, really wanted to see the woman who had bought G-Spot scented hand sanitizer. And a badly curious little side of me kind of wanted to know not only what a G-Spot smells like, but also how the manufacturer figured that one out.

Apparently the mom sharing the couch with the mom of the toddler was curious as well. For the record, both of the moms sitting across from me looked perfectly normal, very mommish in their decently lengthed shorts and t-shirts. The curious mom looked to her couch-mate and said, “Hm. I’ve never heard of that one.”

To her credit, her eyebrows were only slightly raised and her mouth was not letting in flies (unlike my own at the time).

“Oh, you haven’t? It smells really good. Here have some,” the boy’s mom said.

I was about to reach my hand out and ask for some when the curious mom asked, “What was that scent again?”

“It’s juice box scented.”

Ohhhhh. G-Spot, juice box. Whatever.

So, now back to my synopsis.

Motherhood

Motherhood changes everything.

For instance, time is now measured in "Sponge Bobs". When my daughter asks me, "How long 'til we get there?" for the 517th time, I answer with, "Four 'Sponge Bobs'." In other words, we'll get there in two hours. The unit of measurement has changed with each child ("Barneys", "Blue's Clues", "Power Rangers", etc.), but the concept remains the same.

And my name. I used to be Jennie. But now, and forevermore, I will be Mom. My kids all call me Mom. My husband calls me Mom. And I call him Daddy. Always. I heard my 87-year-old Uncle call my Aunt "Momma" a few years ago, so it's not just me. When I'm a grandmother, I want to be called "Mombo." It's kind of a mix between Rambo and Mom. I like to flatter myself and pretend like it fits. Do you think my husband will still call me "Mom," or will he make the switch to "Mombo?"


And I'm not allowed to cuss anymore. In my mind, when that truck cut out in front of me the other day, I called the driver all sorts of creatively strung together physically impossible forms of excrement. But my mouth said, "Boot licker. Fat cow. Turkey breath." I even had to quit saying "Fat Cow" for awhile because my daughter picked up on it and pointed to a fluffy ice cream eater at Baskin Robbins and called him a "Fat Cow." Lucky for me, she was pretty young, and it sounded more like "Facka," which I was easily able to turn into "Frankie? He does look like Uncle Frankie. Look at the rainbow ice cream!" We have no Uncle Frankie, of course.


My music repertoire has significantly changed since I have become a mother. Since I'm usually doing some sort of motherly duty when my kids are watching TV (which, of course, my kids never do since I am the perfect mother and the fact that I know the complete morning PBS line-up is just not true), I only hear the music in the shows which they don't watch. I can sing the "Sponge Bob" theme song, the "F-R-I-E-N-D-S" song from "Sponge Bob", most of the "Barney" songs (although my daughter doesn't like the "I Love You" song because it's too nice -- her brother's influence), and the "Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle" theme song. Thanks to the blessing of three teenage boys along with my five-year-old, I am also well-versed in such bands as Disturbed, Muse, Big Phat Band (that son is studying Jazz at college), and Dream Theater. I know most of the words to "Welcome to the Black Parade" by MCR (that's mom-cool for My Chemical Romance). :) They've also taught me how to text -- although they enjoy mocking my amazing texting skills. Whatever...

A very important thing that I have learned is that silence is not golden. Oh, no. Matter of fact, if there is silence it usually indicates that either my five-year-old is coloring on the walls or on her body with permanent markers, or one of my teenagers is making out with his girlfriend. Not good.

I have also learned some amazingly wonderful things as a mother. Did you know that every time a mother gives birth, she grows another heart? I loved my first son so, so much. When I got pregnant with son #2, I was worried that I would never be able to love him as much as I loved my oldest. Oh, but I did -- because I grew a whole new heart. And it happened again with my third son. And with my baby girl.

I love being a mom. My horizons are forever expanded. Anyone up for a rousing round of "The Song That Never Ends?"

We have time because it's one Sponge Bob until lunch time...