That mom
As hard as I try, I’m never going to be that mom. That mom who every kid loves - who always has the right snacks.
Instead I’m the mom who makes you sit down at the dinner table to eat. Or quizzes you on the state capitals in the car even though you’re only four. “Quirky,” is what another mom called me one time. Yeah, but not in a good way, I thought to myself.
I try, sometimes, to quote High School Musical, or to put cool stickers on my door in order to fit in. I even learned what Tony Hawk’s favorite cereal was and bought it for my kids.
“You’re still lame.” Jackson informed me. “And I still want to sleep at Luke’s house.
So what is it? What does Luke’s mom have that I don’t? Because the truth is, I never changed when I had kids. I kept waiting for that “mom” gene to kick in after I gave birth - the one that makes you pretend to lose at Connect Four in order to boost your kids’ self esteem. Or the one that plays airplane with a spoon directing pureed pea mush into your kid’s mouth.
Well, it never happened.
I was lamenting to Joe about this tonight - how I wish I were more like “that mom” and less like me. And he said, “Nonsense.”
That was it. Nonsence. Which, in my house, is code for “I’m not listening to you because I’m trying tor read the paper.” Well, no one listens to me. Ever. In fact, as I sit here at 2 in the morning, removing a flip-flop from the refrigerator, I can’t help but think that despite all of my “quirky” rules (one being NO FLIP FLOPS IN THE REFRIGERATOR) no one listens to me anyway.
Which, perhaps, makes me like every other mom after all.









MARCY -
Laughing my hucking hass off!