I had a pithy quote I thought I'd blog. You would have been impressed with my whit. But it's upstairs. I'm downstairs. And if I go upstairs, one of "THE FOUR" will ask me for a drink of water, or an extra "tuck in". They might even ask me, "What's for breakfast tomorrow?"
I'll stay down here, where they're less likely to venture. 'Cause here's a dirty little secret: I hate bedtime routines: the tucking in, the glass of water, the prayers, the whole shebang. It makes me crazy. Because I am so DONE with kids by bedtime that I don't usually have the tolerance for the "I'm scared.", "I'm thirsty.", "I need a band-aid." crapola my kids dish out at this hour. I am sympathy challenged at my best. So, I have absolutely zero feelings of charity and empathy towards kids who think they need water after I think I'm entitled to "clock-out" for the evening.
And there goes my Mother of the Year Badge.
You think, "No, surely not. The Stephanie I know is compassionate, and empathetic."
Um. Not so much. Here's Proof:
Emma comes in crying, "Mom, Ethan is picking on me."
I say, "Stop being an easy target."
Or how about this one:
"Mommy, I hurt my head."
I respond, "Are you bleeding?"
"You're fine. Stop crying."
Yep. Yours truly has uttered those words.
But this is the perennial favorite.
I say, "How many kids are there?"
"Four", some sheepish kid mumbles.
"How many mommys do you see?"
"Get in line, kid, I'm doing the best I can."
Yep, that mothering award isn't casting long shadows around here this evening.