I quit waiting for my "Mother of the Year" certificate to arrive long ago. It only took a few months for me to shift from "I am going to be the best mother who ever lived" to "I am going to be the best mother I can be" after the birth of my daughter. I'd say that, to be honest, I've since downsized to "I will try to be the best mother I can at this particular hour" on many a day.
And I don't always succeed.
Like tonight. As usual, all hell broke loose sometime between after-school pick-up and dinner. You know those calm, lovely family dinners you've seen portrayed on TV? You won't find one of those at my house. It's usually an all-out food fight, complete with a battle as to who gets the most mashed potatoes and a stern reinforcement from me as to why it's important to use napkins, even if they're paper.
So it should come as absolutely no surprise that the phone should ring in the midst of the chaos. And that my kids should choose to answer. Caller I.D. is a lovely thing: it enables us to ignore people we don't want to speak to, and identifies who we DO want to talk with. And when "Private Caller" comes up, we all know who that is: GRANDMA. Only this time, "Private Caller" wasn't grandma. And the person on the other end of the phone had NO sense of humor.
"Tomas's Taco Stand," yells my son. "How many tacos you want????" No answer. "'ELLLOOOOOOOO.....HOW MANY TACOS YOU WANT??? WE HAVE GOOD TACOS TONIGHT!!!!" exclaims my son, with added emphasis on "good tacos". No answer. "YOU NO WANT MY TACOS???????" My son, clearly positive Grandma is giving as good as she gets, is not going to take stoic for an answer.
Frustrated, he hands the phone to me. "Hello?" I say, cautiously, positive I'm not going to enjoy the next few moments.
"Hello, Mrs. Wildrick."
Yep. Not my mom. And not someone with a sense of humor. I'll leave it there.
'Cause I know any of my friends would have jumped on that and requested two fish tacos, guac on the side.
And, no, I won't expect the doorbell to ring with my special "Mother of the Year" award. But be warned: you call my house, you're likely to get a side of tacos.