You know you have those moments whenyou feel like you’re just doing the worst job in the world as a mother?
And, despite doing all those things like swearing in front of your kids or sending them to school with no lunch, or forgetting to pick them up … all those moments compounded don’t make you feel quite so much a bad mum as when one of your offspring says soemthing along the lines of “I hate you! You’re the worst mum in the world!”
It’s like them saying it just confirms it. Before they say it, you can just about convince youreself you’re doing ok. Once they’ve said it, its like you’ve publicly been handed the “Bad Mum Award”, and it’s recorded in the register. It’s official!
Well, I’ve had so many of those moments, that I have no space left on my walls to house the certificates I haven’t received for all the times I’ve been loudly awarded such a presitgious status. Mostly presented from my kids’ bedroom, from where they have screamed it at me.
I was even called an “evil arse” the other day. I am improving.
Still, it’s the officialdom of it all. It’s stuck in your head and you can’t get it out. Therefore, it must be true.
Thus, I am so pleased to now be Officially Awesome.
I know I am. Not because all my friends said “you’re awesome”. Nor my business coach or any other business type person with whom I work or am associated with in one way or another.
Nor even my hubby rubbing my back whilst I’m sobbing hysterically and trying to convince me “no, no really, you’re not a bad mum at all, you’re a great mum” and grasping madly for some evidence of this statement.
I am awesome because my 9 year old told me I am. And not because he wanted something, but because I did something for him, asked him his opinion and he replied with “Hmmm, I don’t like three by two lego bricks because you can’t use them for anything and they’re the only ones you can find when you really need the four by two . Ilike the four by two better.”
And then, because he learnt a few years back that I will have a tantrum and “throw his fucking Percy fucking cake in the fucking bin” if he offers any more “feedback” on how I’m doing it all wrong, he adds “But I really like it. I’m happy with it,” and stepped out of range of my arms, taking with him the birthday invites I’d just done, in fear that I would toss them in the recycle bin.
He returned home from school to find I had altered the LEGO brick on his birthday invitations to find I had replaced the three by two brick with a four by two brick (once I worked out what he was actually referring to) and it was then, after I had done the job that he said “You’re awesome!”
And like all good mums I put my hand to my heart and gave a small sob. My son really does love me. Of course, I couldn’t rely on this alone and set about soliciting a testimonial, albeit without telling him first.
As you can see from this video – he was more than happy to provide it, too 🙂
See … it must be true. I really am awesome!