Yesterday I woke up feeling so run down and exhausted that no one would guess that I had slept a solid eight hours with zero interruptions.
When Man Cub approached my side of the bed and asked for breakfast, I told him to climb in next to me and go back to sleep. Because that is what every 5-year-old boy wants to hear at 7am. When he asked again, five minutes later, I didn't even open my eyes. I whispered "Go ask Daddy." You know, Daddy...the guy who is busy getting ready for a morning meeting. Yeah, I was that mom.
I did get out of bed when Girl Child began to yell "Mama, Mama, Mama!" from her crib. Blessedly, my fella had already poured dry cereal for them. A cup of coffee and a sugar and butter laden muffin did nothing for my energy level, so I sat and watched my fella finish getting ready instead of doing any of my own morning routine.
By 8am I had decided that I had to take the kids to the water park. Not necessarily for their own enjoyment, but rather because I knew that the water park would entertain them and tire them out...and I needed them to be too tired to require much effort on my part in the afternoon! I was that mom.
My plan to sit in a lounge chair in the sun and merely supervise their activity (that mom!) did not go over very well. Girl Child decided that this was the day to take on the water slides. I did not count the number of times she insisted that we go "again! again!" but I am relatively certain that we climbed those stairs about 87 times. At least. Finally, I decided to let her brother take her and I waited at the bottom to catch her. The first time it went wonderfully. There was hope! But the second time, she fell on the stairs and another mother carried her to the lifeguard to find out which heartless, neglectful mother this pitiful, crying toddler belonged to. Oh, that would be me. You know, that mom.
Around the time her tears and my guilt subsided, the kids started complaining of hunger. I had not packed a lunch. No biggie. But I also had not packed any snacks or drinks to hold them over until lunch. Very out of character for me. So we headed over to the snack bar and, forgoing the many healthful menu items, shared a plate of loaded nachos and a humongous Dr. Pepper. Yeah, I was that mom.
After some more play time, we headed home. I put Girl Child down for a nap and started a cartoon on Netflix for Man Cub. My plan was to let him watch one show while I did a hair cut, and then engage him in some sort of non-electronic activity for quiet time. Well, over the course of the afternoon he watched four full-length movies. And ate cookies. Lots of cookies. I was that mom.
Sometime during this movie marathon, he asked "Hey mom, why didn't we have lunch?" Oh, I guess because I fed you nachos and soda and cookies all day long and forgot to actually feed you a meal. Yeah, I'm that mom.
And speaking of meals, something needed to be done about dinner. Spaghetti! Spaghetti is low effort! I pulled out the ingredients, started boiling water, and headed back to the couch. When I heard it begin to boil, I dragged myself up. But, just as I was about to open the box of noodles, my fella arrived home with Chik-Fil-A for all of us! Hallelujah!
So, after a day of nothing but processed convenience food, I fed my kids Chik-Fil-A for dinner. And not even the nuggets-with-fruit-and-milk version that they are used to. No. Kid's meals straight up with french fries and soda. Yep. That mom.
After running a quick errand, we were back home again. And it was only 6:45. This day was slower than the last day of school. Slower than the DMV. Slower than listening to that guy Mountain Man on Duck Dynasty. So, I put my daughter to bed...at 6:50. That mom.
And then I put on another movie for my son. And then another after that. And I sat on the couch and read blogs and blogged. That mom.
Truth is, I don't even feel that bad about it. Because, some days, it's okay to be that mom.
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