That was almost my blog name. I really wanted it to be. But a quick google search brought up too many entries that were either that name or close to it. So I found something else. Something I hope reflects our goal as a family. At least we try.
Anywhozzles, I am not a super mom. Not even close. Surprising? Probably not. My husband jokes that our family name should be changed to Yell. We seem to do that a lot around here either because someone is doing something they shouldn't or to be heard over one of the three tvs. In fact, I just yelled at Ruby because she wanted me to open a juice box but chewed the straw into oblivion so it was unusable to break into the only-can-be-operated-by-a-highly-trained-ninja. I still tried. Which resulted in spilling half the juice into my lap because I had to squeeze so hard to even attempt to break the seal. Yeah, I don't really care for juice in my lap, so I
yelled raised my voice wondering why on earth Ruby had to destroy this piece of plastic. Of course, it meant that Ruby didn't get her juice. So she cried.
But the best fairly recent example of me not being a super mom has to do with Cora. She fell out of the bed the other night. I heard her crying but didn't rush to her side - mostly because with my broken ankle I can't rush anywhere. And also because she has turned into a little bit of a drama queen, so I was waiting to see what would happen. Then my husband got up and rescued her before he left for job #1. All was quiet again. Then Cora woke up for the day and came out to my
prison spot on the couch. She was crying again because she had gone into the bathroom to go potty and saw her reflection in the mirror. She was bothered by it. And when she showed up to my spot on the couch, I could see why. She had blood all over her face and a huge cut right below her eyebrow. I don't know what she hit, but she obviously hit something when she fell off. She didn't want anyone to look at her or touch anything but finally allowed me (with Daddy's help in holding her down) to clean up her face. She pretty much spent the day on the recliner taking it easy.
And then there's this morning. When she woke up, she couldn't open her eye.
By the way, if anyone knows how to convince a very stubborn opinionated almost five year old that icing her eye would be a good thing, let me know. At any rate, if I had not
ignored her cries waited to see what happened when she first fell, maybe I could have helped heal her eye better. But to make THAT happen, I'd have to go back to August 19 and avoid breaking my ankle. So, yeah. I'm not a super mom.
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