My Mother Of The Year Ballot Just Burst Into Flames

I’m still crabby I can’t remember why I thought this no smoking thing was a good idea.

Poor little Monkey is probably wondering what the hell happened to his mommy. I know that in the mornings he is not as worried about the time as I am. He is not on a tight schedule and isn’t much affected if he is late for something, I am. So when he tells me that he can’t find his mittens, my normal response is “Try looking for them again. Make sure you lift stuff up and look really hard.”

But this morning when he told me he couldn’t find his mittens, I lost it a little (stay with me here. This happens all the time, almost every morning. Also every time he takes off his coat I tell him that the mittens go in the pockets and his hat goes in the sleeve so he doesn’t lose anything. My point is: don’t judge me).

“Go get your mittens on”

“I can’t find them”

“Well go look for them”

“I did. I can’t find them”

“You didn’t look for them because if you did then they would be on your hands”

“But I diiiiiiiiiiid. I don’t know where they are”

“I don’t care! Go find your mittens. We do this EVERY SINGLE MORNING. If you paid attention and kept track of your stuff you’d always know where your mittens were. Now go find your mittens!”

Cross between a blank stare and fear.

“GO FIND YOUR MITTNES!”

Same look.

“I swear if you don’t get your ass (I never curse at him) out of here I’m going to hurt you!!” (I have never {nor will I ever} laid a hand on my child. No swats on the butt, no smack on the hand, nothing)

Same look, but near tears.

“GO! NOW!”

At this point I was not facing the mirror but if I had been, I’m sure that I would have seen myself foaming at the mouth with steam coming out of my ears and off the top of my head.

2 minutes later he comes back with his mittens. “I found them Mommy”

“Good for you. I told you if you looked for them you would find them. Why do you have such a tough time listening? Put them on. Hurry up; we’re going to be late. Why aren’t your mittens on? Put them on now!”

“I can’t do it”

I ended up putting his mittens on for him and then lecturing him the whole way to daycare.

I’ve turned into this crazy person that I don’t even recognize. I think my son may just walk to the gas station, go to the cashier we know and say “Mommy quit smoking, but now she’s mean. Make her smoke again.” Then he’ll come home with a pack of Camels and whine until I smoke myself back to normal.

It’s entirely possible that I am going to spend a lot of time trying to buy back his love. Either that, or lots of money on his therapy.