A lot of people have asked me how I won an award for the Worst
Well-Intended Mom of the Year. Truth be
told, I nominated myself. And there was
no one else in my category. So naturally, I won.
See, I was never going to win mom of the year, what
with my kid’s constant complaints about that sandwich not being cut correctly,
or the bathwater being not hot enough/that’s too hot/now it’s too cold/this is
just awful. So I figured it’s always
good to be best in your category. If I
can’t be the best mom, I might was well be the worst.
But I’m not technically a bad enough mom to win a real Worst
Mom of the Year Award, none of us are. That award is reserved for those ladies
who make headlines, the ones who make us want to stop watching the local news.
I’m just a normal mom who is trying to do a good job and whose kids complain each
and every damned day.
Here are some of their complaints.
Sometimes they make a request and I grant it. This makes them very upset.
I Made Them Exactly
What They Requested for Dinner
terrible, but sometimes I listen to my kids and try to make them happy. That
means sometimes they make a request and I grant it. This makes them very upset and can cause complaining
and/or meltdowns (usually from me).
I Can’t Pinterest for
OK this is a valid
complaint, but nowhere in the job application for raising a human being did it
say I needed to be skilled with a hot glue gun.
I’m Not Psychic
My kids often say things like, “Mommy, do you
remember that guy who did that thing?” When I ask for a more specific
description, my kids lose their minds and assume I’m a part of some conspiracy
theory created just to make them describe things better. I’m not. I just have
no idea what they are talking about.
The Blankets Fell Off
Sometimes at 2 or 3 a.m., the blankets on one of my kids' beds
moves. Sometimes, those blankets even fall to the ground. Instead of using their
own body parts to pick the blankets up and go back to sleep, the children call
for me. The fact that I don’t appreciate
being named the family blanket adjuster at 3 a.m. doesn’t sit
well with my kids. They’re sure to let
homework is my fault as if I invented it and told them to wait until nearly
bedtime to do it.
As you can see, my children’s complaints aren’t that bad. In
the global scheme of things if the worst thing that happens in your young life
is that the blankets fell off or your mom isn’t terribly crafty, then you’re
leading a pretty good life. But when you’re
a kid, you don’t always know that. How
could you? You’ve never had another mom. So the one you have must be the
worst. And you must tell her every
second of the day.
My only hope, as the winner of the Worst Well-Intended Mom
of the Year award, is that when my children get older, they see just how lucky
they were to have such a bad mom.
Because despite my failings as a mom, I loved my kids every second of every
day—even when they were complaining about me, to me.
So if you, too, are a bad but well-intended mom, at least
according to your kids, then go ahead and give yourself an award. It’s always nice to be the best in your category.
Trust me, I know.