Big Picture Parenting Part 2 or Mean Mommy #youbetcha

 

I sit down at my desk, which is like Grand Central Fucking Station only, like, inside my home office. It is literally the communal Family Dumping Station.

Anything that comes through the door of our house, gets dumped on my desk. WTF. I yell at my husband: I’m putting all this shit in a bin. Then I’m taking it to your office and dumping it on your desk! Try and find a client’s important tax documents THEN, Mother Fucker. (Love you Honey.)

So as I'm huffing and puffing and about to blow my house down, my 10 year old calls me from school and says:

“Mommy, could you please sign my progress report and bring it to school? “

“Blondie, I never saw your progress report.”

“I put in on your desk.”

“On my desk! Where on my desk?”

“It is folded into a tiny little square and I put it on your desk.”

WTF? Folded into a tiny little square? Does she not realize I've got... a See’s Candy Order fundraiser form; the reminder note which tells me if I don’t bring the check for the Ballet costume, Little Sis WILL NOT be performing in the Annual Production of The Firebird; a note from the Playground Supervisor about someone NOT LISTENING THE FIRST FOUR TIMES they were asked to get off the Monkey Bars; a brown bag lunch leftover from a couple of days ago. And a martini glass - okay so that one's mine, but still!

Finally, while I listen to my daughter mouth breathing into the phone, I discover this little thing, sweaty hard lump, that looks like a giant spit wad. Ah, the Progress Report.

“OK, I see it...." What to do. Probably shoulda lied and said the dog ate it. But now I have to say something... Straighten my back as much as a old Mama can, "But, no, I will not sign your progress report and bring it to school.”

“But Mommy, my group will lose three points if all the kids don’t have their progress reports signed and turned in today!!!”

(Huffy Breath)

(Wavering. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. What do I do? I want the other kids to like her. I want her to be a winning student in the classroom. Bracing myself. Good Mommies don't care about popularity they care about character - whatever the fuck that means)

I answer, “Well, then you should have thought of that last night and brought the progress report to me to be signed. No.”

I hang up the phone. So victorious. I stood up in the face or irresponsibility. I have to be strong, I have to be consistent....

But I could just drop it by. I have to drive by there in an hour anyway, what could it hurt?

Besides my authority, you mean?

All day I waiver between being victorious, strong and noble and feeling like such a Mean Mommy.

BTW; Big Picture Parenting Sucks. (But I’m still trade marking it!)

Finally, the Blondie comes home. I'm ready for anything. Recrimination. Pouting. Even tears.

"Well?" I ask.

"Well, what?"

"The progress report."

The Blondie shrugs, "Oh, no biggie."

No FUCKING biggie? As she skipped off to her room, I stood there shell-shocked. You mean standing my ground worked, it F'ing worked?

Oh ya, make a path, Trademark Office here I come!