Exactly.

I was trying, as I often do, to put tell my daughter that her father and I will always love each other, and that she never needs to worry about us loving her.

Me to Jooj: "You never ever ever have to think about..."

Jooj (interupting): "Clowns."

I need a new baby

This was the thought I had when I came downstairs and found that Jooj had emptied an entire bottle of round cupcake sprinkles on the Berber carpet.

"Man, if only we had a 9-month-old."

Because one of those would be thrilled to spend the afternoon picking up individual pastel balls and eating them.

Bad, bad mommy!

My 17-year-old son has his first girlfriend. He made me swear to him I wouldn't blog about it, so that's all you get except for the fact that the worrier in me now works overtime.

So am I a bad mom for hoping things don't work out, even if it means he gets his heart broken?

Better him than me, right?

(Don't tell him I said that.)

So THAT'S How We're Going to Play This...

I bought The Jooj one of the $5 plastic golf sets from The-Mega-Store-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named the other day.

She promptly stuck her leg into the plastic golf bag and got it very stuck.

I promptly got my camera.

Then I realized just how wedged it was, and I got the Pam.

After we freed her battered little leg she told me "You gave me owies, Mami!"

I responded with "No, sweetie, YOU stuck your leg inside and Mami got you out. Mami helped you..."

And then she cut me off with a "Mami, just say you sorry!"

And so it begins. Do I need to write this on the calendar as "The day everything became my fault?" I BOUGHT her a new toy. I SHOWED her how to golf. I LET her hit the dog with a club one time to get it out of her system. I SPRAYED her with lubricant (the expensive baking kind, even!). And what do I get from this? Nothing but grief. Prior to this I was revising a post I had written about how there are some things only mothers can do--how we are the panaceas to so many of life's little hurts. And I am glad I didn't finish it because, apparently, I was all wrong. We are not the cure, we are the cause. Good to know.

Today, apparently, I simply suck

Running out of incentives to induce good behavior, this morning, as she tore the house up and berated me because she wouldn't get out of bed in time to catch her ride, I calmly informed my daughter that although her replacement Converse Hi-Tops would arrive today, she would not be wearing them until she made it on time to jazz band practice for an entire week.

"You made a commitment to be in a band and that means attending practices," I stated emphatically.

"You made a commitment to be my mother and that's not working out so well, is it?" she screamed in my face.

Her words bite me still even as I type. It may be easy on the outside looking in to agree with her and tell me that this messy relationship is indeed my fault. If only I would handle things differently, lay down the law, spend more time with her, etc... I already get that from a couple of people in my ward (lesson #1: never judge a mother through the eyes of her 12-year-old daughter) to whom she is nothing but sweet and respectful and fun, and who, frankly, would be shocked if they witnessed one of her too-frequent tirades.

Sure there are days when I could handle things better. But I think the fact that no matter how bad it gets I don't usually yell back; I haven't smacked her across the face; I continue to calmly tell her "You're Welcome" and "Bye, I love you. Have a good day," as I drop her off to school (even on mornings when she's at her worst); and I haven't, as of yet, left home or wished the same upon her when she is a mother, speaks volumes about my commitment to be her mother.

I only hope I can see this through and that my commitment (unless she gets her way--which she doesn't always, because that's not always what's best for her--she chooses to not see the love) will be enough. On days like today I honestly wonder...

Bad Mommy Day

This is a guest post from my friend Susie.


Today was one of those days. You know, the one where you're like "Please remind me why I signed on for this?" Not that you need to remind me, I already know the reason. It is the highest calling. I know this.


So today, I picked Ethan up from school and he told me how good he was, his teacher even gave him a special gift for showing such great behavior. I was very pleased. I have seen him make tremendous improvements in the last few months. Anyone who knows Ethan is aware of how busy and precocious he can be. And his energy level is through the roof. He is also very obstinate. Which makes for a challenging child, and my patience is tested every day. When Ethan was two he ran away from me constantly. It didn't matter if we were in a mall, airport, restaurant, Walmart,or our house. I resorted to putting latches on the tops of my doors, just to keep him safe. In public places he would find the nearest exit and make his fearless getaway. Recently he's gotten a lot better, although I've found him outside our house on the sidewalks a few times. We live on a busy road, and I've practically beat the dangers of running in the road into him.

Anyway, he asked if I would take him to McDonald's playland for lunch because he was so good. I agreed and we went. I noticed he started misbehaving after about a half hour, so I told him it was time to go home. I through my tray away, and when I turned around I couldn't find him. I figured he climbed back up into the playset. I called for him, no answer. I quickly walked through McDonald's, no Ethan. I went back to the playset, and the crappy part was that it's so difficult to find your kids when their up in that thing. There were tons of kids up there, so I just called his name hoping he would come down. After about 5 minutes or so I started panicking. Another mother caught on to my anxiety and offered to help. We looked around McDonalds again, we went outside etc. I seriously was about to call the police. This McDonald's was right against State St. in Lindon, which is a monster of a road. Horrible scenarios were going through my mind, and I was loosing it. After what seemed an eternity (probably about 10 minutes...maybe less) a lady came in the playland and asked if anyone was missing a child. She said there was a little boy in the Smith's parking lot behind McDonald's playing with rocks in the middle of crazy lunch hour traffic. I was hysterical, and went running outside with Lilly in my arms(perfect little soul). There Ethan was, happy as a clam, with no clue of what danger he was in. I grabbed him and we went in to get our bags from McDonald's. I'm sorry, but I couldn't help myself. My emotions were through the roof. I was literally pulling him and yelling "You scared Mommy to death, you could have been killed!!". You could have heard a pin drop in that McDonald's. All eyes and ears were on US. I could have cared less. I was so hysterical, I WANTED to beat the crap out of him (of course I didn't). But I did publicly chastise him. And I spanked him hard on his bum before we got in the car. I wanted him to be embarrassed, and shamed. I was so angry I was shaking. Ethan is a smart kid, and a boy ahead of his age in many ways. They've put him in a class with 5 year olds at school because he talks like he's 20. So, it's hard for me to remember that he's still 3 3/4.

So, here's where the advice is needed.

What would you have done?

I took his lovies away when we got home, and he went straight to his room, all privileges gone for the rest of the day. I also feel bad because the talk given in Sacrament meeting last week was about controlling your temper as a parent, and I feel I lost mine today. But honestly people, I was enraged because he could have been killed. I would appreciate some good mommy advice right about now.

I am a good mom today because I didn’t wring my firstborn’s neck.

Today was the second day in a row that he used the space of time between getting him dressed and getting me dressed to wreck havoc. Yesterday, he got into the pantry and climbed the shelves to get the honey. He removed the cap from the honey and ported it to the living room. He then poured the honey all over his trains, the coffee table, the carpet, and my fraying computer cord. He managed to get his hands, face, and bum (I don’t know.) I only had time to wash him and not the table or the trains. He screamed at me because the whole point of covering his trains with honey was so that he could give them a washdown like Sir Topham Hatt. Uh-huh.

My sister and husband graduated today from university. I was taking the kids to my sister’s graduation and had to go back to put on my clothes. Cue the music of doom. I walk into the hallway and notice white footprints. You know, like a freaking ghost on Scooby-Doo. That’s when I noticed the pantry door open and my 25 pound bag of flour tipped over. Gordon the Train was under the flour. Guille was covered in flour and when he ran away from me, his ghost footprints tracked around the kitchen and the living room.

I was so angry I slammed the pantry door, making the pile of flour go WHOOSH into the air and disperse in a mist all over my clean floor. I am happy that I didn’t slam the kid.

He screamed at me because he wanted to wash Gordon down. Instead, Gordon the Train got to stay in the pantry under the flour while I dragged Guille into the bathroom. He was trying to get away from me and succeeded only in powdering me. Do I look like I’m an 18^th century chick that needs a good dusting? Let me answer that for you, NO, I don’t. I don’t have any panniers, my Rousseau book is missing, and I lost my snuff box along with my beauty patches five years ago.

It’s like kids can sense anxiety and stress, and then decide to amplify it. My kids are still alive, we watched my sister walk, and now I’m having a Diet Coke. Even if I did DRAG my kid to get cleaned up, I am a good mommy today.