Your Mother Said What?

It's a wonder that I am allowed to have children under my care.  I love my little people, but I seem to always say the wrong things to them.  A few weeks ago I was running on the treadmill.  My boys are very aware that they are not allowed near me while I'm running on the treadmill.  I have that fear of one of them getting their fingers caught in it and having horrible scars and injuries.  Well, no matter how many times I tell my little people the rules of the house, they seem to forget quickly.  So as I was running at 9 mph, my boys came in behind me and started kicking their new soccer ball.  Before I knew what was happening, the ball got sucked underneath the treadmill and popped out of the top of the treadmill landing on my feet.  In the process, the treadmill cracked and shut down.  I turned around to see the terrified little faces of my boys.  I think the three of us were shocked that the ball actually made it through the 2-inch space in the treadmill without popping first and foremost.  Secondly we were anticipating what would happen next.  In those next seconds my thought process was, "It's just a treadmill, don't freak out."  But then my thoughts changed to, "The treadmill is broken.  It's an expensive machine.  You can't let the boys think that what they did was no big deal."  So I went with thought process #2 and started to yell.  I even threw in a few swear words to sound like I really meant what I was saying.  And I didn't yell my nice polite yell.  I yelled my ugly yell.  And what exactly did I yell you wonder?  I said something to the effect of, "What were you thinking?  You just broke my treadmill!  You couldn't just draw on the walls today?  Instead you had to break an $800 machine?!!!"  What mother says that?  Seriously.  Did I just encourage writing on the walls?  Not really sure.  But after a broken treadmill, an ugly adult tantrum and a short trip to time out for all three of us, the thing that sticks out in my mind the most is what I said to them.  "Why couldn't you draw on the walls?"  Someone call DCFS right now.  I am not a fit parent.

Last year Paige got a goldfish for her 8th birthday.  She was pumped and pampered that fish for months.  I'm still amazed that it actually survived for more than a week.  I had given Paige little pep talks about when Goldie would pass away because I knew it was inevitable that this goldfish would not live forever.  Paige said she understood that Goldie would die and that although it would be a sad moment, she would do her best to deal with it maturely.  Well, that day of mourning did come.  And after tears and whining and sobbing on Paige's part, I was at my wits end.  I explained that we needed to dispose of Goldie and that the toilet was the ideal place to let Goldie rest in peace.  Paige couldn't bear the thought of flushing her beloved fish down the toilet.  I suggested we throw her in the garbage.  Paige didn't like that either.  After much discussion and my best efforts of being compassionate, my patience was spent.  Finally I exclaimed, "Paige, you either flush it down the toilet or feed it to the dogs."  What?  Did I really just say that?  I think I did.  And of course, the water works came quicker and faster from that point on.  The thought of flushing Goldie down the toilet was one thing, but to feed her to the dogs.  Ouch. 

Once again, why, oh why must these poor children grow up under the care of such an untactful insensitive mother?  It's just not fair.  And the saddest part about it is that I really try.  Chalk another one up for me for Mother of the Year.