This past Saturday and Sunday mornings were spent running a lot of errands with my two kids. Two kids who, apparently, don’t understand that it’s possible to ride in a back seat without constant bickering and occasional sibling slapping.
After hours upon hours of listening to them argue, my head popped off.
Okay, my head didn’t pop off, but it felt like it would. Maybe that is why I suddenly yelled, “STOPPPPPPP!!!” You know, to relieve all of that pressure.
It was quiet for a moment, then my son said, “I want a new mom.”
I replied, “Why would you say that?”
He said, “Because you yelled.”
After I apologized for *ahem* raising my voice because of two days worth of constant squabble that would make even the most solid brain turn to mush, or make dogs howl, or make ears bleed, I told my son that he shouldn’t wish for a new mom because he might get a mom who yells more, or one who doesn’t read to him, or make him dinner, or love him so much, or…well the list went on and on.
None of that phased him. He was determined to be rid of me.
So, I did what any mom whose head almost popped off would do. I pulled over to an old, run-down house and told my son to go knock on the door and ask for a new mom.
He looked at the home, with its overgrown bushes, tall grass and covered windows and asked, “Can we go see if there’s a new mom at a better house?”