Mornings at my house are rather chaotic. So I thought I would post an opening for a “Mom” to replace me so that I can sleep in one weekday. If anyone is interested in this position, contact me at your earliest convenience.
Job Position: Substitute MOM (Well, at least for one morning.)
Date Available: Immediately
Job Description: Start rousing six of your seven children at 6:50 a.m. Dispense medication. Get into a discussion with your ten-year-old about why orange doesn’t match with purple, and how there’s a big ketchup stain on her shirt and why didn’t she put those clothes in the laundry yesterday? Hear the sixteen-year-old inform you that there isn’t any bread for sandwiches, while the twelve-year-old complains that his shirt is wrinkly and needs ironing.
Drive as fast as you can to the nearest grocery store to buy bread, only to realize you left your wallet at the house. Get on your hands and knees and search the bottom of your twelve-passenger van for spare change. Find a quarter stuck to an old lollipop and two torn dollar bills inside a sock. Rush back into the grocery store and buy the bread. Race home to see your fourteen-year-old special-needs child board his bus with his hair sticking straight up in a bizarre bed-head mohawk. Frantically signal him to fix his hair as he gives you a perplexed look and the bus drives away.
Drive the sixteen-year-old to school, lecturing him about testing his blood sugar four times a day. Return home to find the ten-year-old and the eight-year-old engaged in warfare, with spilled cereal running from the countertop onto the floor. Spend the next ten minutes trying to get somebody to confess. End up cleaning the mess yourself. Take ten more minutes teaching the twelve-year-old to iron his shirt, because he says you “do it better than he does.” Hear the honk of the carpool, and the wail of the eight-year-old who can’t find his shoes. Get on your hands and knees and frantically search under couches and in invisible crevices for the shoes. Find just one. Hear another honk from the carpool. Send the eight-year-old out the door in one of his old pairs of shoes, as he wails in protest. Hear the wailing all the way down the street as the car drives away. Sigh with relief.
Notice the four-year-old enter the room, asking for cereal. Pour the wrong kind, and engage in a disagreement about whether or not that was the kind she asked for. Pour the “right” kind, and eat the wrong kind yourself so you won’t waste the milk. Turn on the T.V. and listen to Barney sing. Change the channel when your daughter isn’t looking. When she notices, shrug and change it back. Receive a phone call from the elementary school. The eight-year-old forgot his lunch money. Realize you haven’t showered. Wonder whether anybody would notice if you just didn’t. Spend fifteen minutes getting the four-year-old cleaned up and into her car booster seat. Drive to the school. This time remember your wallet, but not your checkbook.
Salary: Some occasional “I love you, Mommys,” and several crayon-colored Mother’s Day Cards. A few petunias planted in paper cups. A beautiful bouquet picked from the neighbor’s yard. A million funny memories and an occasional feeling of satisfaction. A morning and a life well-spent.
HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY!
Kristyn Crow is the author of this blog. Visit her website by clicking here.
