Marvel at my Superior Parenting Skillz

Photo from MyBadParent.com

So ... I just rolled my four-year-old's finger up in the car window. And then? I went kinda temporarily blank when he started screeching and froze for like three seconds because I didn't want to push the button the wrong way and roll it up more.

I know.

In all fairness, I've told him a bazillion times not to put his fingers there in case of just such an event. And did he listen to me? Obviously not.

It isn't broken, not swollen, just a little bruised ... at least so far. But still. I feel terrible about it.

I rushed him in the house and thrust a bag of frozen peas at him. "Here, Cameron!" I said. "Put this on your finger!" Because frozen peas are, like, high-grade first-aid equipment. (I'm pretty sure they carry them on ambulances.) Then I sat him on the couch and turned on some brightly-colored kids' show and soothed him with a cookie.

Because yesterday, when he had a fever? He told me that the only thing that sounded good to eat were "some of Mommy's delicious cookies." And how could I have resisted that kind of sweetness? Plus I wanted some cookies.


So we have cookies. And right now, my kids are sitting on the couch, shoveling cookie into their faces, watching a cartoon, with one of them nursing his poor mangled finger back to health on a bag of frozen peas.

I should have told him yesterday, "I know cookies sound good, but they aren't very good for your body, especially when you're sick. Let's eat orange slices instead!" But he was so sweet and pitiful, asking about them. And I totally wanted cookies too.

I should have looked into the back seat to ensure that nobody's fingers/other body parts (because with my boys this is totally possible) were going to get rolled up in the window. But I was in a hurry to roll up the windows as soon as we pulled into the garage because, well, thanks to the trash and the dog and cat food and all the other musty crap we store in there, the garage has this lingering funk and I didn't want it to permeate my Jeep's pristine* interior.

*And by "pristine" I mean there are only a few stale French fries and old receipts and crumbs and used sucker sticks and fortune cookies and Legos and toy cars.

I should have properly doctored his finger with, like, a real live ice pack and elevation and compression and whatever else a nicely prepared mother would have. But I have frozen peas. I don't know what has become of my ice packs. They must have gone off to the faraway land which houses all the socks and spoons that also mysteriously disappear.

I should have turned on an educational program that would teach them about, like, the solar system or how to add and subtract. But instead I turned on something that was all, "Boink!" and "Zoing!" and "Wheeee!"

Also? I might as well get it all out now: I didn't comb anybody's hair this morning except for Colin's, because he was the only one who'll be seen in public. And they requested omelets for breakfast, but I gave them cereal. And it wasn't bran flakes or Cheerios ... it was Cookie Crisp.

*hides face*

Mother of the year right here, y'all.