Bad Mother Thankful For Decent Kids

Ex. 1:

Rory packs her backpack for sports camp. She does this by herself because I know she can, because she should, and also because I am on the phone with my sister who is telling me about my other sister who is sick and in the hospital. Do it yourself, I say, and not nicely, and kinda rudely.

Rory packs sunscreen, a bathing cap, a water bottle, a towel, spare undies, and breath mints. Breath mints? Girl is wikkid prepared. If she were not 8 and headed to sports camp, I might think she was prepping for a hook-up.

She lays out her t-shirt and soccer shorts for her wake-up call. She hates mornings as much as I do.

Ex. 2:

Bridget lobbies to stay up thirty minutes later than the other two because she's 20 months older (yo) and almost ten (dude!) and I make the deal with her.  I do because she can handle it, but also because my sister calls again to explain my other sister's illness, and this makes me too tired/wired to wrestle three into bed at once. 

While I get the download on my sisters sad stomach, the extra thirty minutes passes. I wave Bridget over to me, phone still cradled between chin and ear, hug her as best I can and kiss her face. I mouth "good night" and "sorry" and she hugs me and mouths "I love you." Like a big girl, she takes her book and puts her own self to bed. 

Later, at last, I hang up the phone, relieved but feeling far away from a hospital in New Jersey. I sigh and stand up from my desk to assess the damage I have ignored for two hours.

Bridget has cleaned the three games that were laid out on the rug: plastic playing parts and cards and dice all now neatly tucked away. She has loaded the sink with milky cups and dusted cracker bits off the couch. She has fluffed the pillows. Fluffed them.

Ex. 3:

The GFYO does not wake me at 1am for a chit chat and snuggle. He does not wake me at 3am with a question about ants or volcanos. Instead, he runs to me in the morning with arms out and topless, boxers hip-slung and covered in pick-up trucks. My bedhead is so far out of control it's like art and he runs to me still, even before I've made coffee, before I've even spoken. 

He says, Mama! I missed you.

Result:

Tonight, while my sister is on the mend, the worst averted, I tell them they can walk to the ice cream store ALL BY THEMSELVES. Hoots and hollers ensue because they've been begging to do this. I am the Good Mom, the best mom, the most awesome.

'Cept I don't have enough cash. Bridget gets money from her tooth fairy fund and I write her an I.O.U. 

I owe you, I really do.