Motherhood in Your Face

First off, I feel stupid this morning. I have been suffering stupidity all these years in regards to one of my favorite classical CDs. My son is into listening to classical music on his headphones now while he does math and he approached me with my favorite Bach CD. He said, "Mom, I have chosen my CD for today: Bach By Popular Demand." And then he shows it to me. I have never picked the thing up and read the title out loud, I have always sort of read it in my mind and slid the disc in the player. It is supposed to be funny---you know, like, "Back by popular demand." I am an idiot. All these years I have never thought of it that way.

___________________________________(thank you, Susie)

The other day I was walking into my room and the boys were playing games on the laptop. I entered into a sort of argument and finally Eraser Eater says, "Mom! He said 'oh my gosh'!" pointing at my Oldest.

My oldest stutters a bit. "But I----uh---"

I put my arm up in helplessness because I really did not know what to do. Really, who cares? I don't. Not that much. Whenever I say it around them they always tell me that I am saying bad words and I need to stop. So, trying to be a good mother, I tell my oldest not to say those words again.

"But it's not my fault, Mom," he says, "It's all your bad mothering skills that get me in trouble. You say it all the time! It's useless!"

"Thanks," I say.

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To add to the sadness of my condition as a human being I have not exercised a lick this week. {Shouts, roars, cheers}

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Yesterday I let the kids go outside to have a break for thirty minutes (I know, 30 minutes! What am I thinking? Ten minutes is totally enough time!). I saw that they were having such fun. When I called them all in my oldest yelped into the air like I shot his leg, apparently he was into what he was doing. A few minutes later he came in with my daughter and then Eraser Eater came in wearing his moon boots. Within a single minute Eraser eater had walked around the whole house (I could tell) because he tracked that wonderful Virginia clay all over in nice little clumps. I was fiery hot with anger. I ran over to him, picked him up by his shoulders and removed him from the carpet yelling, "Look what you have done! My carpet!"

"I didn't know..." He slurred and spat.

"You tracked the clay ALL OVER THE CARPET!"

"I didn't do it," chimes in my oldest.

As I slaved over that stupid carpet for forty five minutes I told the boys that I had planned on making bread for dinner at that time and now we will have no bread. {There were gasps.}

After I was finished cleaning up the carpets I decided to get the vinegar water and spray a little on the wood floor by the stairs. Heaven help me, I did not look at the stairs. Eraser Eater had also somehow tracked the clay upstairs and straight to his room. I was pretty much breathing fire at this point and sweating profusely. I was seriously thinking of the Latin chants while I was on my hands and knees---"serva, servae, slave, slave" and their pointing fingers. I got bitter. I am over it now though.

So, Last night we were eating a pretty nice dinner. I had a few rolls left over in the freezer so I pulled them out. There were just enough---one per person. Eraser Eater commented: "What?! Only one roll each?!"
I almost flew at him, but the red wine I was drinking held me down. I felt a little nicer than usual and put up with it (the lush that I am).
"Well," I said sweetly, but firmly, "if I did not have to slave over the floor this morning during my baking bread time, I would have had some bread made. I don't want another comment!"

I think he saw his folly immediately; those kids always think I forget absolutely everything, which I nearly do. The Oldest suddenly grew a beard and turned into "Dad" and scolded him and his insolence, and of course, I had to remind my oldest that he is not "Dad" but merely my child and he needs to simmer down. The beard sank back into his skin to reveal his boyish face and the deeper commanding voice halted and sank, like the beard, into an oblivion (really, a waiting pool for next time he can pretend he is dad) and Mickey Mouse returned on his throne and the high pitched voice of my Oldest again reigned supreme. How many times a day do I do this, you ask? A million. If that is not enough to commit me now, I don't know what is.