I've totally turned into THAT mother. You know, the one who seems to have zero control over her children because . . . well . . . she doesn't.
I had a meeting at my house this morning. My oldest son, Hunter, informed me at dinner that during said meeting he ate twelve Otter Pops. Tanner was a close second at eleven. Haylee "only ate six" and therefore proclaimed that the boys were going to be WAY sicker than she was. I just stared at the children who wanted to make sure I understood their awesome level of restraint because they "only let Avery eat three."
This is AFTER I caught them trying to get more out of the freezer. The problem was that they weren't frozen yet. They'd eaten all of the frozen ones. Obviously. So they tore into the strands of liquid Otter Pops and exploded a total of five all over my kitchen. The sticky juice covered the inside of my freezer, the front of my fridge, the floor that I mopped yesterday, the kitchen counter, and my fresh stack of mail.
I, of course, as the responsible mother that I am, insisted that they clean up the entire mess themselves which explains why my flip flops stuck to the floor when I was attempting to cook dinner. It's also the only appropriate explanation for my blue freezer. Whatever. Maybe next month when I actually attempt to mop my floor again it'll stay clean for two days.
And I mean, is this really any worse than last month when I had to coax Tanner off of the roof of the local bowling alley? Not hardly. Besides, that wasn't his fault anyway. "Why'd they put a ladder on the building if they didn't want me to climb up there?" Good point, son. Or not.
Truthfully I don't know why I even pretend to have any sort of semblance of control.
I'm the mom who herds her children to the car, only to have Tanner on the roof of her SUV in three seconds flat. Threatening him doesn't help. He thinks it'll be fun if you speed down the highway with him clinging to the roof rack. He's strong after all. He "can hold on."
I'm also the mom who doesn't let her five year old have anything. Haylee informed (at the top of her shrieking lungs, might I add) that I hated her for not buying her another pair of shoes. She only has six pairs. And they're not the right ones. Oh, did you think that was in the privacy of our home or vehicle? No, sorry, that was in the shoe department at Kohl's where we were most definitely not shopping for her.
A lady I ran into at the mall that very day told me I was a brave soul. There I was waddling with four kids into Old Navy because Avery desperately needed new flip flops. Hers were hurting her feet and she tried to throw them out the car window. It was the only logical thing to do in her two year old mind. I didn't have the heart to tell the woman that my blood pressure shot through the roof just walking in there. She was inspired and felt that she could wrestle two kids in the mall if I could do four. I hope she didn't actually do it, poor soul. I thought about writing down the link for her to my "never go into another mall with your children again as long as you live" post. Instead I smiled and pretended it wasn't that bad.
Yep, I'm that mother.