Worst Mother Ever

I am a bad mother. Not like, ‘that is one bad mutha’, more like, ‘I know it’s winter, but we’re late for school! There’s no time for shoes and socks-- just pick one!’

This past weekend, my oldest daughter, Claire was in the kitchen, and grumbling. She is just beginning to go through puberty. Her mood swings are almost comical. Thank God she doesn’t read this blog.

So, she’s in the kitchen riffling through the cupboards looking for a snack. All she could find that interested her was peanut butter and crackers. Fine. Settled. She made up a couple, all the time telling me that I, ‘just have to get better snacks in this house’-- when you read this, in your head, use a really high, piercing voice, while pinching your nose. This is not how she sounds, rather how my ears hear her.

She walks by the kitchen table where my middle gal, Camille and I were reading a book together and she screeches, (again with that high voice and pinched nose), ’That’s my Tree House book, Camille! You didn’t ask me if you could read it! Mama, Camille may not read my Tree House book!’ (I let out a ‘jeeeze…’ while Camille rolls her eyes.)

At this, she turned on her heel, and intended to huff down the stairs in grand dramatic fashion, but instead, fell down the stairs. Bumpity, bump, bump-- BANG!

I got up from the table, ran to the stairs and looked down. She was sprawled at the bottom, getting up, not crying (she rarely does that), her peanut butter crackers were scattered like confetti after Mardi Gras in ‘Nawlins, all over the family room floor.

I went down the stairs, asked her if she was okay. She was. I moved her ankles around, wiggled her toes-- the whole bit. Then I helped her walk over to the couch and sit down.

Here’s where the bad mother part comes in to play. I sat down next to her and busted out laughing. It was uncontrollable. I was shaking no, convulsing as I tried desperately to hold in the snorts of laughter. Eyes shut tight, tears squeezing out, teeth clenched. I knew that this was the worst thing I could do. But I couldn’t help it-- the more I tried to stop, the harder I laughed.

She had been acting like Nelly Olsen on Little House on the Prairie, and Nelly would have deserved to fall down those steps after telling off Laura Ingles like that, right? I mean, that is classic physical comedy (reference Lucille Ball, Charlie Chaplin, Chevy Chase)-- it was impossible not to laugh.

Claire hugged a big pillow over her face so that I couldn’t see that she was beginning to laugh, too and screamed (employ screechy voice again)-- ‘You are the worst mother, ever!’