Today I actually dared to bring two four-year-olds with me to do some clothes shopping for myself at Target – something I obviously rarely do, as evidenced by my threadbare clothing complete with knee and elbow patches. While I am doing 180s in front of the mirror, trying to get the full visual of my sizable ass in skinny jeans, Jagger and Balboa Jr. are tackling each other, crawling all over the filthy floor, exclaiming about my nakedness, asking me why my underpants consist of a string going up my bum-bum – and all sorts of other shenanigans that result in lots of Mean, Nasty, Impatient Mommy Moments. I didn’t buy the jeans, in case you were wondering.
So tonight, I am still grumpy and nursing a headache, and we are sitting around the dinner table. To deflect the traditional complaining, crying, and musical chairing that goes on at dinnertime, we try to go around the table and ask each person what their “best” and “worst” parts of the day were. When we get to Jagger, he says, “Mommy was the best part of my day.” (Ahhh, all the petty frustrations seem to melt away. What is WRONG with me? I’m such a Debbie Downer. I have the best, sweetest, most well-behaved kids in the whole world). My internal monologue is bragging along in this fashion until I hear Todd ask Jagger what the worst part of his day was. His answer without hesitation? “Mommy.”