Who is Peeking In On Your Worst Mommy Moments?

While we’re all on good behavior most of the time out in public, you know that there are a select few closest to you that see you let it all hang out with your kids. But hold up. What about the people that see the worst version of you that you don’t really think about? Yikes right? Yeah-think about that for a second.

Recently, I had some God awful upper respiratory virus with some body aches sprinkled in and while I called out sick to work, I still had to drag my butt out of bed and drive my kids to school because we can’t call out sick to the Mom job. My husband goes into work early this day of the week, so I am always on drop off duty this particular day.

I ran through the how-to-get-my-sick-achey-bod-out-of-bed scenarios in my head: Did I have the energy to grab a baseball hat? Nope, that would require standing on my tippy toes to reach it  in the closet-even my toes hurt.

If it wasn’t on the top of my closet area, it would likely be buried at the bottom of my closet, which meant I would need to dig for it. This equals bending over -nope definitely can’t bend over with my head full of all this mucus and all this achiness. Did I mention the aching? .

How greasy was my hair? I would look in the mirror and decide.

How would I get dressed? Leave pajama top on-it’s not too noticeable. Will somehow finagle pulling jeans on. Maybe the kids could help me pull them on? I lugged my body around like a ton of bricks and ever so slowly got the jeans on, slipped shoes on, and opted for combing my hair through twice and walking out the door.

Due to getting out the door being the biggest pain in the booty with my two kids, I often open the door as the “indicator” that we’re about to head out. I figure my kids will someday recognize this open door  symbol and skip their way to the car, get in, and buckle up with smiles on their faces and halos over their heads. A woman can dream right?

When I opened the door to set the “indicator” that we were getting ready to leave, I noticed it was a beautiful day and my neighbor had her windows open. On the way out the door, I went to scoop up my son’s folder and put his homework in it.  Then I saw a late library book notice from the school. It was $70 if we did not return the books.  The two most expensive books had been in his backpack for a month.  What was even more maddening was he had been reminded every single day to return the books by Yours Truly.   I was trying to shout at him with my newfound sore-throat man voice and hobbled like Quasimoto to his room where I started crazily tossing books from his bookcase. Dammit-I was going to find the other late books that were not in his backpack. This may have looked like the wire hanger scene from Mommy Dearest- just with books flying everywhere and me shouting at the bookcase like it had just murdered someone. Oh yeah…and…our windows were open.

Take two of trying muddle out the door and my 4 year old son decides he doesn’t want to get in the car.  He circles the car. He goes left then I go right and vice versa.

I start repeating over and over getting louder each time, “Mommy doesn’t feel good. Mommy doesn’t feel good. MOMMY DOESN’T FEEL GOOD!” I was hoping if I kept saying that he’d feel bad and finally get in the car.

Aaaaand now he’s headed for the flower garden.  He’s going to play with the flowers in the garden and run back and forth from the flowers to the car. When he makes it to the car he’s going to write his name in the condensation on the window- because why not? To a 4 year old, we have ALL the time in the world.  I wish buddy.

He’s hysterically laughing of course. Really? Mamma don’t play that right about now. Mamma wants to be IN BED. What probably sounded and looked so cute to everyone else on the planet including my neighbors felt like hell. My pounding headache felt like it was talking at me,  “Must… get water.. Must… find bed.  Must… lie down.”

With my Pee-Wee Herman meets Wolfman voice I growl at my son to “Get. In.The.Car.” The scary voice works.

As I lean down to buckle him into his booster seat, the car door (which is not fully propped open) begins to close just in time to double-combo smack me in the head and shoulder.  F***!

You know when something hurts so bad like stepping on a lego, or hitting your head on something, or stubbing your toe? And you know that  hot and angry feeling you get just as the pain sets in? YEP. That was this moment. I think I did some version swearing, and kicking the  car door. Whatever I did, I’m sure I looked nuts.

With spring being here and summer fast approaching, both sets of my neighbors on either side of our house have their windows open more often than not. It dawned on me that my neighbors must think I am the mother from HELL. They hear the worst version of this mom right here every…single…day whenever I am trying to get my kids into the car. And this day was particularly worse than those days because of how bad this virus was kicking my butt.

My absolute least favorite time of each day when the worst version of myself is visiting is when I am attempting to get my sons into the car to go somewhere. It’s typically a 5 to 10 minute fiasco with lots of shouting. And oh how I hate a nag! But to BE one…that’s worse. When it’s time to get in the car – it’s time for The Nagmeister.

I’ll have to sprinkle in a “Good Job” or an “I love you” the next time one of my kids gets their butt into the car without a hassle just so my neighbors realize I’m not Mommy Dearest all the time. Oh yeah, I almost forgot. My kids don’t get into the car until I start shouting. It was a cute thought while it lasted.