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Laugh at Life - Ode to Mothers - Part One

Recently, our eldest child said to me, “I worry that I’m not a good parent.” I suspect that other mothers live with this concern so I will, at the risk of losing any respect I may have had, share what I did with my daughter that day.
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Recently, our eldest child said to me, “I worry that I’m not a good parent.”

I suspect that other mothers live with this concern so I will, at the risk of losing any respect I may have had, share what I did with my daughter that day.

When she was just a new baby I “ran out to get a few things” while leaving her, sleeping alone, at home. Yes … I completely forgot my child—until I was almost parked at the grocery store. I glanced at the passenger seat, which was void of the carseat we were then allowed to keep beside us, and gasped. As I whipped the car around and raced toward home, visions of a house fire played in my head. Fortunately, I found her still asleep and in complete newborn oblivion of what a dunce her mother was.

Around that time, I dumped that same child out of her carseat, which I’d tried to balance on my hip while trying to multi-task. (Back then our babies were simply plunked into a bucket and the vehicle’s seatbelt was considered safe enough.) Thankfully, she was bundled in a thick, puffy snowsuit when she tumbled down our outdoor cement steps. Of course I dropped the empty plastic seat and chased her to the bottom. After examining every inch of that poor child, and feeling satisfied that she’d survive, I then empty-promised her that I’d become a better mother.

Unfortunately …

My two girls will never forget the day I handed them both a knife saying, “May the better person win.” In my defence to that rash decision, they fought a lot as young teens and I thought they both needed a wake-up call. This backfired on me, however, when instead of dropping their weapons and hugging one another with renewed love (as I’d planned) they both looked at me as if I’d lost my mind. ’Tis arguable.

In case I hadn’t helped her feel better about her parenting until that point, I reminded my very soft-hearted daughter about the time I slapped her across the face to stop one of her fourteen-year-old rants. After the smack she was quiet for only a split second before she yelled, “I’m calling Social Services!” I then did the only thing I thought reasonable. I calmly went to the kitchen, found a phone book, circled my best guess at a number for that organization and handed it to her. “Go ahead!” I said right back. “See if anyone likes you more than I do!”

We can laugh about it now and she says she deserved that but I beg to differ. That, among many others, was not one of my more stellar “mom-moments” and I know it.

So, if you’re feeling as my daughter does at times—that you’re not a good enough parent—read this again. Help is on the way for Mother’s Day too! To be continued …

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