The Day I Became My Mother

My mom was a good mother.  She got all of the big things right.  High expectations?  Check.  Unconditional love?  Check.  Balanced meals? Checkity check. 

Her attention to detail?  Well...  you can't be good at everything.

I may have mentioned that I was the third child.  And Mom was tired.  One of those little details that fell through the cracks?   Socks.  I was always scrambling for socks. Specifically, matching knee socks to wear to Sunday school.  If I found a pair, one was reliably stretched out and sagging around my ankle.  As a result, I swore that my child would never have this problem.

Fast forward to this morning.

Z:  Mom?  The only socks in my drawer have gray on them. 

Me:  Humph?  Zzzzpth.  (I'm not a morning person.)

Z:  The gray is going to show with my Mary Janets!  (aka: Mary Janes.  How cute is that?)

Me:  What happened to all of your socks?  If you would just put them in the hamper... (devolves into incoherent grumbling).

Z:  I don't know.  All I have are the gray ones.

Me:  (hangs head and sighs)  Get some out of the dirty clothes hamper.    


And if fully becoming my mother wasn't enough for one morning?  Five minutes later this conversation happens.

Z:  Mom?  All my panties are pinching me.  Can I just not wear any today?

Me:  (Brain explodes and I die.  The end.)

Post Script:  It was underwear day at the Mother Ship (Target) today.  Socks and underwear for everyone!  LOTS of socks and underwear.

1 comment:

  1. Don't worry, Babe, I'm not so great about making sure the white, matching, CLEAN socks are always available either. And boys... they won't even *ask* where they are, they'll just dig them out of the dirty pile in their closet and wear them...over and over and over. So that's something to look forward to with Q in a few years! :-)


I am a comment junkie.
Thank you for feeding my habit.