Well I’m about to tell you.
I had a deadline. I had only just so much time to get the first draft of a project I was working on to my Editor.
Isn’t it funny how the picture we conjure up in our minds so many times does not match AT ALL the reality of what really happens?
Come on, I know I can’t be the only one.
So in my mind, I have totally concocted this view of myself. Here I am, sitting in my beautiful home, surrounded with love, peace, and life. I’ve got my coffee next to me, my laptop on my lap and I’m working on my project, which is due in less than 24 hours. In my mind, I just know the kids and everyone around me are going to part the ways and make it easy for me.
I mean, they KNOW how important I am, right?
This is the real world. Remember? Maybe I have spent too much of my life with my nose in a good book or dreaming about a movie or something.
My #1 Teenager (whom I might add has a head full of red hair and not at ALL the temper to go with it – AHEM!) had made some homemade cookies. She’d spent hours in the kitchen preparing the goodies and had a customer who was to buy them.
They are not just any cookie.
They are the homemade chocolate, Nutella goodness of the Pinterest recipe world.
So, I’m trying to fit in to my pants and working hard and making good choices. Knowing that the goodies will torture me and sidetrack me, I make the (what I think at the time) wonderful and smart decision to remove the cookies off the counter in the kitchen and have my #3 Teenager (Blondie) put them on Red’s desk in her room.
She shuts the door behind her.
Tighter pants avoided.
I’m good. AHHHHH, back to writing for my project, which did I mention has to be done within (less than) 24 hours now?
Click. Click. Click. I’m typing away. Progress. Maybe my vision of being one with the universe and getting it all done is going to happen after all.
The Universe has others ideas in mind for our household. At that moment, I hear a blood curdling screech coming from the other room.
“WHO ATE THE COOKIES IN MY ROOM?!?!”
In classic great mothering, I look at my kids to blame them. Blondie is looking at me to blame me. But we both know the truth.
Red comes out, in her hands we see the remains of a crumpled up and abused plastic container. Not one cookie left. Not one.
“WHERE’S THE DOG?!?”
Oh look, he has some chocolate on his mouth. And there is a trail of plastic going from her room to where he is. And you know that moment when you ask a dog a question and they get all innocent looking on you and try to act like it didn’t happen? You know how they cower down and look UP with pitiful eyes, just letting you know that they would never, ever, never-ever eat the Nutella Chocolate Cookies?
Yeah. That’s what happened.
Then, in one moment the entire house falls to pieces and any shred of normalcy is gone.
In my mother of year style, I sit there and keep typing and try to pretend this isn’t happening.
This is good parenting, right?
Meanwhile, it’s getting louder and louder and things are festering.
I know what I should have done. But hind-sight is always 20/20. Instead, I decide to scream at the top of my lungs “WOULD YOU ALL JUST STOP?!? GOOD GOD! IT’S JUST SOME COOKIES. AND I HAVE A DEADLINE TO WORK AGAINST HERE. JUST BE QUIET AND STOP!!!!!”
What was a 10 on the loudness chart has now escalated to 100 because when a parent loses control, the entire house loses control. I know this, but I made a choice and hey, it’s the honest truth of what happened.
Finally things quiet down. I think the storm has passed. Then, it occurs to me. Wait a second, the dog (who is NOT supposed to have chocolate) has just downed a DOZEN chocolate cookies. I should probably put him outside before he –
Never mind. Too late.
Not sure how to spell the awful sound that happened followed by the big pile of regurgitated cookies that were now sitting next to me.
In my beautiful world.
Where I’m typing.
And that’s how I won my mother of the year award.