Friday the 13th

I am having one of those days, and I’m sad to say, it is only 6:59 am.

I have already faced packing 54 valentine goody bags, icing 60 heart cookies, chasing 1 naughty dog, tripping over 1 ginormous dog and spilling coffee down my front, 1 child mini-meltdown, 1 husband mini-meltdown, 1 spilled houseplant, burnt toast setting off the smoke alarm, and one major child melt-down.

I would like to take the time to wonder if perhaps I am really trapped in another dimension, and living in the twilight zone. But sadly, this is not anything other than the average day in my life.

However, I did a Mommy No-No this morning, and I feel like the most horrible person on the planet. My head is hung low, and I am wallowing in shame. I have crossed the forbidden threshold of really bad parenting. (I usually just hang around the doorway, but today I actually walked through.) You see, I made my son cry.

Let me explain . . .

My day began at 3 am with the arrival of my son Trey into my bedroom. He had a coughing fit and woke himself up, so naturally, he needed to sleep in my bed. Well, this child has the weirdest sleeping habits, and he actually burrows himself all the way under the covers at the foot of the bed. I always wait for him to fall asleep then I have to dig down and pull him out so he doesn’t suffocate. Then, he will usually burrow himself in my side and continue sleeping like a champ.

However, what I realized at 3:14 am is that my son really needs his toenails trimmed, and I now have Freddy Kruger markings running down the length of my body.

Needless to say, I never went back to sleep.

At 4:45, I gave up and went out to make the coffee and finish getting all the kids Valentine goodies together. In the span of 15 minutes, I had half my morning chores completed. Ooh, I feel Mother of the Year coming on.

By 5:15, hubby and I were enjoying a hot cup of coffee while watching the morning news. We chatted, exchanged pleasantries, and he kindly offered to take the kids to school for me today. I was off to a wonderful start.

By 6 am the kids were dressed, and heading into brush their teeth and make their beds.

My oldest son was singing “I have to go pee pee” to the tune of “You down with O.P.P.” because he has a bad habit of getting song lyrics incorrect.

By 6:30, they were all sitting down to enjoy a hot breakfast, courtesy of Mother of the Year.

By 6:45, all hell had broken loose.

My oldest son threw his football into my houseplant (it was intercepted he said) and spilled it from one end of the kitchen to the other. On my way over to assess the damage, I tripped over my dog Sally, and spilled hot coffee all down the front of me. As I was cleaning the coffee and potting soil, another son knocked over the tray of iced heart sugar cookies that I had been up to 11 pm decorating and smashed them to smithereens all over the floor.

As I swept up my culinary masterpieces and tossed them in the trash, I sent the boys downstairs to get their coats and shoes on. 5 minutes later, I go down to find 1 boy wearing summer sandals and a bike helmet, and 2 boys whacking each other with light sabers, without any coats or shoes on.

To say I was frustrated is an understatement. At this point, I was waiting for my head to start spinning and projectile vomiting.

I helped all the children get their coats and shoes on, and was trying to usher them out the door. Two made it to the car. But, my middle son, Deuce, wasn’t moving. Apparently, I had tightened his shoelace too tight, and he was sure his foot was going to fall off. I took the shoe off, did a 10 point inspection, and re-tied it three times, and still he wasn’t satisfied. Exasperated, I told him he was just going to have to deal with it today because he was going to be late. He told me I was the worst Mom in the whole world.

I opened the door, handed him is backpack, and told him that if he didn’t like the way I did things, then he could find somewhere else to live. I shut the door behind him, and immediately started cleaning up the stray coats and toys that seem to have exploded all over the room.

3 Minutes later, the door opens, and my handsome hubby is standing in the doorway with a sobbing 6 year old giving me the look. Crocodile tears are streaming down Deuce’s face, his eyes are bright red, and he is crying so hard that his shoulders are shaking.

“What happened?????” I say. I am naturally assuming some sort of physical pain from a fall on the ice or a stray football.

“Deuce is hurt because you don’t want him anymore.”

Oh . . . ugh . . . oh . . .ah . . . CRAP. This is all my fault. I did this. I AM the worst mother in the whole world.

I try to explain that I was frustrated, and that of course I love him no matter what. That seems to do the trick, and off they go. But not before the ‘ol hubby gives me another look over his shoulder. Thanks for that sir. We all know that you are perfect. (Eye twitch)

So, here I sit, in a quiet house, feeling like the lowest form of parent on the planet, wondering if I should go out and buy him the four-wheeler that he has been asking for for 3 years, when it dawns on me. Today is Friday the 13th AND it is a full moon. So . . .

It doesn’t count. My Bad Mommy spell doesn’t count! It really wasn’t me. It was a WereMom acting up from deep inside. I AM in the twilight zone. Wooo-hoooo! It wasn’t my fault! I am being influenced by the supernatural. I knew it.

So, now, I am off to scavenge a sugar cookie from the floor to enjoy with my coffee. (Hey I spent a LOT of time on those, so SOMEONE should enjoy them, right?) Happy Friday the 13th.