I am not a great mom, I think by reading through this blog I make that abundantly clear. I harbor no illusion that I excel in any way at motherhood. I hate mornings, I forget that dinner comes around once a day, my kids are always plugged into some electronic screen, and I have on more than one occasion announced my intent to sell them to the first band of traveling gypsies I come across.
What I find interesting is that my husband still somehow expects more of me.
Take this afternoon for instance. Monkey comes to the sliding door and is upset because his sled is broken and now he can't sled in the backyard. Motormouth isn't sharing his sled because he is 'using' it to haul snow for his fort. Monkey will not be put off. He wants a sled. Now. He is being very polite about it, so I feel bad. "Here" I say, as I hand him the rubberized tray that is used to collect the water from our boots. "Use this" Monkey looks at it and looks at me. His only complaint is that it is wet. Look around dude, so are you. Monkey takes it and heads off. I shut the door, feeling very proud of myself and turn right into the shocked face of my husband. "Your actually letting him try to sled on that?" um. yeah. Face it G, I am letting him sled down the stairs and into the dog run fence, do you really think the boot mat is what's wrong with this scenario?
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