Mother's Day Misgivings

I have come to the conclusion that there are two great humblers in life: Unemployment and children. Both are subjects that anyone can be an expert in, even if they have no experience in either. Before I was unemployed for seven months last year, I used to haughtily assume the unemployed just weren't looking hard enough for their next job. Before I had kids, I used to assume all you needed was to be firm in your parenting and your kids would fall in line.
I didn't really account for the fact that the unemployment gig was such a crushing blow that, despite a minimum of 10 applications a week, I began to feel physically ill with worry... what if I never worked beyond a job that required me to ask "Would you like fries with that?" ever again?
I also have come to the conclusion that no matter how many times we tell our kids to wear their helmets while riding bike or to turn off inappropriate television, they're going to push the boundaries anyway.
Last week I came home from work, and instantly had to leave again to run to the grocery store. As I was driving down a residential road, I noticed a little boy riding his bike, weaving in and out of traffic. He wasn't wearing his helmet, and that made me of course roll my eyes.
"Nice mothering job," I said to myself. "Whoever is his mother should maybe pay a little more attention to what her kids are doing."
Turns out, it was my son Wyatt on the bike. Lovely.
I pulled the car over and yelled out the window, "Wyatt Robert! What is the matter with you?!"
He looked at me with utter 6 year old disgust. "What's the big deal, Mom?"
"Your head bouncing off the concrete, that's the big deal." I loaded his bike into my car and drove him home.
Shortly before Thanksgiving, my daughter Chloe came home and informed me that she was invited to spend the night at a friend's house that evening. I was supposed to drop her off once her friend was done with her guitar lesson.
Now, I know what I was SUPPOSED to do. I was SUPPOSED to call the friend's mother to confirm everything. I get that. I've read the books. But I didn't. I'm sure I was just relieved that one of the kids would be out of the house for the night. One down, three to go...
Around 7:30 that evening I drove Chloe over to her friend's house. I walked with her to the front door and rang the doorbell, prepared to do a little friendly chit-chat with the girl's mother. The girl and her mother came to the door, and within a few seconds it was apparent that the mother knew nothing of the overnight plans.
She stood in the doorway, wearing a pink track suit and holding a little dog in her arms. She reminded me of a Hollywood reality star.
Once I realized what had happened, I felt like an idiot. "I am so sorry," I told her. "I just assumed this was all right with you. I should have called. I'll just bring Chloe back with me."
The mother sighed and said, "No that's ok. She might as well stay overnight as long as she's here."
I thanked her profusely and turned to leave, but she stopped me.
"Just so you know," she said, leaning forward and still clutching her tiny dog, "the last time my daughter spent the night at your house they apparently watched an R rated movie. Were you aware of that?"
Fan-freakin'-tastic.
And as I always do when I'm under extreme stress or shame, I tried to crack a joke. "Well, at least it wasn't porn."
Paris Hilton was not amused.
Several years ago a friend of one of my older daughters came over. They were around age 8 or 9, and playing outside. When I was getting ready to take her home, one of my daughters tattled that this friend had pooped on our sidewalk.
I was completely confused. "Honey, we have indoor plumbing. You can use our bathroom inside anytime you need to."
The girl was non-apologetic. "Well, your daughters dared me to."
Not exactly a moment that you're bursting with pride as a mother. However, secretly I thought to myself "As least my daughters were doing the daring, and not the public pooping. That has to count for something."
Fast forward several years, to early this week. I was at work, and got a call from one of my older daughters.
"Mom," she began in a shaky voice. "The vice principal is making me call you, because of an incident."
Instantly I was on alert. The child of mine that was calling, had been getting into some trouble lately. Who knew what she got busted doing?
"What happened?" I asked slowly.
She admitted that she may or may not have used a gay slur on a classmate.
I was beyond pissed. I consider myself a bed-wetting liberal and have just assumed my progressive beliefs would mean that my sweet children would never, ever stoop to hateful words. Another humbling moment. In all honesty, I would have RATHER she pooped on some one's sidewalk.
With Mother's Day right around the corner, we can take this opportunity to do inward cringes when we think about some of the not-so-loving things our children have done....
OR
We can relish in the moments that make it all worthwhile.
Last year I got a homemade card from one of the kids, written in crayon: "Thank you for feeding me. Thank you for making me feel like I am the only purson on the planet."
So I may not be June Cleaver, or Carol Brady. I feel like I lean more toward the harried mom in "Malcolm in the Middle." But that's ok, because as imperfect as my children may be to others, they are perfect to ME.

Take THAT, Paris Hilton!