Last Updated on November 24, 2020 by World’s Okayest Mom
That’s probably right.
I’ll admit it. I harbor an insane and irrational jealousy toward anyone with a World’s Best Mom (fill in the blank). Coffee mug. Picture frame. Magnet. Keychain. (My jealousy for the keychain is the worst. With a keychain I can literally dangle it in front of all those other moms whose children don’t think they are the world’s best. Ha Ha! Take that!)
But I deserve none of the above. I have enough self-realization to know that I am definitely not the World’s Best Mom.
Though after having this discussion with my manager (as My Girl calls her: Boss Lady), I was gifted a World’s Okayest Mom mug. She feared that would offend me, but 1. I’m not easily offended. My Girl once told me I was “big as a van.” I quickly developed a thick skin after that. And 2. It is so right. World’s Okayest Mom – now that’s something aspire to.
Reasons why I’m not the World’s Best
The “M” Word
For starters, I have convinced My Girl that ‘mom’ is a bad word.
She is only allowed to call me Momma and Mommy, or some other sort of little girl variance.
This started pretty early on, and now that My Girl is age 9, I haven’t backed down on this rule.
‘Mom’ is for much older kids, and I refuse My Girl be any older than she already is. ‘Mother’ should only be used in Little House on the Prairie times or if there’s another word coming after it. You know where I’m going with that. My Girl is not allowed to go there.
We have a deal though that she may call me ‘Mom’ when I drop her off for her freshman year of college. The exact deal entails me giving her a piece of gum for the very first time, in which she may respond with “Thanks, Mom.”
I have this rule so engrained in her that she once called me ‘Mom’ when hanging out with some older kids, but later apologized and explained she wanted to be cool. I also tried to be cool about her slip.
I am not above tricking My Girl. I’m talking straight up lying and tricking her into believing things. I’m lucky that she likes eating vegetables, because I was prepared to tell her that peas turn into jelly beans in her tummy, though once I got her to eat asparagus by telling her it was green beans.
My Girl: “These green beans taste funny.”
Me: “That’s because it’s asparagus.”
My Girl: (with real awe in her voice) “Good job tricking me!”
But I have found an even better and all encompassing trick: Mommy Magic.
It started out as a joke. I would use my Mommy Magic to make a stubbed toe feel better or to make the car drive in a straight line without touching the wheel (I rely on proper alignment and knee-steering like any good driver).
Then there was the magic light incident. The light in our china cabinet is touch activated. Touch the hinges and it turns on. Touch it two more times and it gets even brighter. No magic required. Well… My Girl didn’t know that.
I performed my magic trick for her a couple of times and then she was convinced. So convinced that she would tell random strangers on the street that her momma has Mommy Magic! I’m not quite sure how yet, but I know that I’m going to be able to use that to my advantage in the future…
Miley Cyrus, Sisqo and other bad influences
I am a terrible influence when it comes to music choices. I don’t like to admit this to The Husband, but I think My Girl’s twerking moves (see blog post: Billboard’s Next Big Hit – Toilet Time Soundtrack) could maybe, possibly, on some tiny level, be indirectly related to my listening habits. (But I firmly maintain that I have never nor will ever twerk or listen to Miley Cyrus. Ok, that’s a lie. I do own two Miley songs on iTunes, but they are both pre-shaved head and prior to the skin-toned bikini.)
On more than one occasion, though, I may have found myself mindlessly singing: “She’s got dumps like a truck truck truck; Thighs like a what what what; All night long; Let me see that thooooonnnnnggg.” I’m not proud of it. But it happens.
And when I’m not singing child-unfriendly songs, I tend to sway My Girl to listen to my music. For example, I convinced her we had to listen to Ed Sheeran’s new CD for an entire week because it coincided with the letter she was learning in preschool. (In case you’re not an Ed Sheeran fan like myself, his album was titled X. And also, shame on you!)
Making her listen to my music has negative side effects. Like her walking around the house singing: “Uptown funk you up. Uptown funk you up.” This was when she was only three-years-old and enunciation was a still yet-to-be-learned skill. I was sure we were going to have some explaining to do at daycare.
But I do try to encourage Disney songs for the most part. I really do. But I had to institute a new rule recently. No kid songs on the way to school.
Not too long ago, I suffered through an entire day with one of her songs stuck in my head. It’s hard to meet with clients when all you want to do is belt out: “Jump up, turn around; We’ll help Twilight Sparkle win the crown.” Damn My Little Pony…
And yes, I realize the hypocrisy – I make My Girl listen to my child-unfriendly music and make up new rules preventing her to listen to appropriate songs. Again, this is all about why I’m not getting that Best Mom of the Year award.
And then there’s the Adam Sandler problem
I also have a bad, yet I believe, entertaining, habit of quoting movies/books. A lot. I mean a lot, a lot.
This is a habit My Girl picked up on at a disturbingly young age. The worst is when she’s waiting impatiently, she’ll say: “T-t-t-oday, Junior.”
That’s because I say that to her a lot. I mean a lot, a lot.
It’s not so bad when she quotes Baymax from Big Hero 6, but when My Girl starts spouting off Adam Sandler, I worry that someone may call social services, especially since this is Adam at his worst – making fun of a stuttering child who can’t read.
Living in outer space
This one is hard to admit, but I am sometimes that mom who just spaces the important stuff. For the most part, I’ve got my shit together. But I can’t always seem to get My Girl’s shit together (See About the World’s Okayest Mom).
- My Girl’s very first Christmas… Totally forgot to visit Santa Claus. (Luckily, a family friend had a Santa suit and The Sister arranged a private meeting.)
- For about a year and a half, My Girl missed every dress up day at daycare or didn’t participate in any of the parties because I had no clue they were even happening.
- She missed her very first Christmas music program that she had been rehearsing for weeks. When The Husband and I realized our mistake, we decided it was time to take action. I sheepishly admitted to her daycare teacher that we missed the program. She said: “We advertised it with signs on the door.” Me: “Yeah… I didn’t notice them until yesterday when I picked her up” (one hour before the program). Teacher: “We also reminded parents in the monthly newsletter.” Me: “There’s a monthly newsletter?!” Teacher: “Yeah. And we always post the newsletter on the Facebook page.” Me: “There’s a Facebook page?!”
- This year, I completely spaced her school pictures. See below. Smh. It was one of the few days where I let her dress herself and do her own hair. With that in mind, it could have been worse. (Also, this is the only time her picture has or will see the light of day. Sorry, Family, no school pics in the Christmas card this year.)
And with that list, you’re now nodding along, completely understanding my lack of World’s Best Mom coffee mug.