Many of my friends have written about their “Mom of the Year” (not) awards, and I thought I’d toss my own story out there. It’s incredibly hilarious now, and in fact I barely remember anything about it because it was such a little blip, but it really could have turned out badly. In retrospect, I view it in my head like part of some 80s sitcom: all’s well that ends well.
J was just a toddler of two. I do remember that. I remember that I was home with the boys but I can’t remember if Jim was home.
Wow, this is a great story.
I don’t remember what I was doing around the house. I feel confident that, whatever it was, it did not involve cleaning in any shape or form but since I can’t remember, let’s pretend that I was polishing the silver or cleaning the tile grout with a toothbrush.
I don’t remember what D, almost five years old, was doing at the time.
It gets better and better, huh?
What DO I remember? I remember there being a knock on my front door. I remember the huge twenty-something guy, the one who often played basketball with other huge twenty-something guys across the street and a couple doors down, standing there at my door…WITH my two-year-old.
I remember him saying, “Is this yours?”
I remember me saying, “Oh my gosh! Yes! Thank you so much!”
Yes, that’s right. My two-year-old got out the front door, crossed the street, and decided to join the basketball game. Without asking me OR remembering that he was TWO, for goodness sakes.
Color me embarrassed.
Cue cheesy laughtrack.